


Feeding Revenge

by MosaicCreme, squiggly_squid



Series: Idiosyncratic Assassin [9]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Blood, Gore, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-24 22:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 66,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13820349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MosaicCreme/pseuds/MosaicCreme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiggly_squid/pseuds/squiggly_squid
Summary: WARNING:  This fic has many dark themesPart of the Idiosyncratic Assassin SeriesAres finds out about a dark tragedy in Charles' past and sees to it that the man gets his well-deserved revenge.





	1. Something's Different

Charles sits against the bathroom sink, white towels soaked with his blood discarded in a crumpled heap next to him. The Medi-gel lays within easy reach, but he isn't done yet. It doesn't hurt enough to let him know he's alive. Bringing the straight razor—the one he stole from his asshole father the day he left home—back to his thigh, he presses the point into his flesh. Digging it in a little before sliding the blade across his skin, fresh blood blossoms in its wake. He bites back a hiss, feeling the sting, but still … it isn't enough. His father's voice echoes in the back of his mind.

" _You're a worthless piece of shit, and you'll always be a worthless piece of shit, you goddamn ass-fucker!"_

A tear slides down his cheek as he starts a fresh cut, digging the blade in a little deeper, watching the skin part. Blood rolls down his thigh before dripping onto the floor.

" _I can't believe you're such a fuck up! Where the hell did I go wrong with you?" His father slaps him in the back of the head, and then, when Charles winces, he hits Charles again—with a closed fist. "Look at you, you're such a pussy. You can't even take a slap, but you can take it up the ass?"_

Taking a ragged breath, he moves to the other leg, starting anew. When he is done, he'll clean himself up and slather Medi-gel over the wounds. Most of them won't even leave a scar, and it'll be like it never happened. Like none of it ever happened.

" _You know it's your fault your sister's dead." His father scowls at him, words slurring, reeking of whiskey. "If you were a real man, you would've been able to take those guys on … a real man never would've let them get near his flesh and blood."_

_Charles tries to duck out of the way of the bottle, but he isn't quick enough._

The tears come freely now, pouring down his face in hot waves. There. There it is. He feels it, he is alive.

* * *

 

After a long night at Chora's full of drinking, smoking, fucking dancers, and getting into one hell of a good fight, Ares wants to sit down and take off his damn facial prosthetics. He already told Jasmine goodbye, so he doesn't really feel like going back to her apartment, or facing the fact that he's grown so used to her that he spilled his sob story of a life. The job left Jasmine with a few new holes thanks to their target, but she'd live after a bit of down time. Even better, no one stabbed Ares in the back, literally or figuratively, and he got a good fight out of the whole thing. It did end up leaving him with a shit load of pent up energy, but Chora's worked that out well enough, leaving him a clear enough head to relax, maybe check on another human he met through  _Assassins Unveiled_ , Charles Fairclough.

Ares picked up some of the asari noodle shit Charles was so fond of to take to the small apartment the man owns. Luckily, the place had some dextro food and—despite his usual choice of vitamin packed rations of xemna that take less time to eat, stay in his system longer, are cheaper, and just plain routine to him after so many years huddled in the dark eating it from the can—he ordered something similar to Charles' food of limp noodles, albeit with something not liable to fall out of his mouth. He can't stand how noodles apparently call for lips—or even a mouth that can completely close—but he ordered the dish out of ease.

Carrying the bag of containers holding their food, Ares holds his omni-tool over the lock interface and unlocks it with his code. Why Charles just gave him the code when Ares could very well have been out to kill him is still a mystery, but he will take advantage of the bit of stupidity. He can easily hack the lock just as quickly, but it seems to frustrate Charles when Ares does that. Whenever the man is around, Ares uses the code, but that doesn't mean he doesn't keep his skills sharp by encrypting the lock in different ways so he can practice on it later whenever Charles is asleep or away. The human is none the wiser, and, with Ares' interference with the lock, his apartment is even more secure.

Not that there is much to steal in this apartment among the mess, but it will at least keep Charles alive that much longer for him to get his ass out of the apartment if someone comes to kill him. If the idiot human took Ares' advice and scoped out escape routes. He's is not so sure Charles even did.

Ares steps into the apartment, and over the odors of being lived in—and messy, he smells the metallic tang of blood. Grumbling at the thought that the human got his ass killed while Ares wasn't around, he sets the food on the coffee table and follows the scent. It leads him to the bathroom, and he sighs at the human, of all places, getting himself killed in the damn shitter. The door isn't locked, so he hits the open command and finds Charles, alive but bleeding.

At the sound of his entry, Charles looks up to him, and Ares sees both shock and a heavy dose of absence in his eyes. Ares leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms, calling out to snap Charles out of whatever obvious memory he is lost in. "Snap out of it," he commands, growling softly to prove that he isn't just saying it for his own benefit.

Charles pulls a towel over his bloody legs, closing the razor and wrapping his fist around it before tucking it in beneath his thigh as he wipes his eyes. "Thanatos … uh, give me a minute. I'll be right out."

Ares grunts, deciding if he should be upset that Charles would think of hiding his self-inflicted injuries, as if Ares isn't observant enough to see them. The fact that the human can't even keep eye contact with him irritates him even more, because he finds no reason to be ashamed of whatever the fuck Charles has chosen to do. As long as he cleans up, Ares lets Charles do whatever the hell he wants. He's far from any position to demand the man change his ways, not when Ares has his own vices.

"Clean yourself up," Ares says as he stands up from the door frame. "I got food, and I'll be pissed if you let it get cold."

Turning away, he lets the door close on anything Charles has to say or do. He doesn't need an explanation, even though it seems to be a human thing to automatically jump into one whenever they think they've been caught doing something that goes against the idea of 'normal'. After all, Ares doesn't really give a shit to know why he does it.

Slitting the bag open with his talon, Ares sits down on the couch, more comfortable than Jasmine's, with the slight wear and lumps he's gotten used to at Charles'. That, and it's closer to the balcony where the fresh—as it can be on a space station—air he often prefers can still waft in, the chill drifting in more comfortable against his plates in comparison to the warmer temperature of the apartment. His spot on the couch even has room where he can stretch his legs since the coffee table isn't as wide as the couch like at her place. Reaching out to search through the boxes for his own food, he hears the shower—louder on this side of the apartment—turn on and water pounding on the shower floor. He rumbles and shakes his head, considering throwing Charles food out if it gets cold just to prove a point.

Ares leans back into the couch as he pops open the lid of his food but growls when he has to bend back down to grab something to eat with. Grumbling to himself about the damn human distracting him as he thinks, Ares grabs what humans call a 'turian fork' and stretches his legs out. He can't really say the liquid—and apparently hidden contents that are supposed to be pieces of louza and some quarian vegetables—looks all that appetizing, but he isn't just going to waste the credits by throwing it out now. Unless Ares wants to have to go out in search of more food, he'll just have to learn to eat the abundantly wet dish.

Shoving his fork into his container in search of something solid to eat, he hears Charles' footsteps as he walks into the living room. Ares glances the man's way, without lifting his head from his food, and rumbles at the smile on Charles' face. If he wants to pretend Ares didn't just walk in on him wasting Medi-gel, so be it, but he better not waste anymore time before eating.

"I got that stupid noodle dish you like." Ares finally manages to spear a large chunk of louza and presses it to his tongue, pulling it off the fork with his mouth plates.

Charles sits on the edge of the couch, his expression carefully controlled, but not good enough for Ares to not see pain tightening the corners of his eyes and pressing his lips into a thin line. Leaning over, he digs through the bag, pulling out the other container and a fork. "Thanks. I didn't know you were on the Citadel. I would've cleaned up."

Ares grunts around his food before tilting his head back to let it slide down his throat. "Aided an associate on a job."

"And by 'associate' you mean another assassin." Charles twirls his fork in the noodles before lifting it to his mouth, that smartass look in his eyes.

"No," Ares said, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. "I sell stocks on the side," he responded dryly.

"Hmmm. Any good investment opportunities you want to tell me about?" Charles scoots further back on the couch, throwing his feet up on the table.

Ares watches Charles' feet, wondering why humans find having their feet on furniture so appealing, like he always does every time Charles does it. "Afraid all my work is confidential. Important clients and all that."

Charles makes a rude noise with his lips—he's called it 'blowing a raspberry' once before, but Ares calls it 'spitting all over the place'—and rolls his eyes. "You're so full of shit. How long you sticking around this time?"

Ares shrugs and shoves another bite in his mouth and grimaces at the taste of something definitely not louza. Probably one of those quarian vegetables everyone claims are so good for nutrition, but Ares just sees as a stupid way to get people to pay more money for food. Turians don't have the teeth for vegetables, unless everyone imagines he has some of those flat and useless teeth hidden somewhere in his mouth. Swallowing, he catches Charles looking his way and smirking at Ares' disgust. "Wipe that look off your face. I paid good credits for this, and it's disgusting, so I'm not doing it again. Enjoy it now."

"Normally I'd say to wipe it off for me, but … yeah," Charles says, dragging the word out. "I think you still have some stuff in the kitchen, you know."

"And have my credits go in the disposal?" Ares hums, lifting a brow at Charles in reaction to his foolish insight. "I think I'll eat it and actually get my credits worth."

"If it's that important to you," Charles says, waving his fork at the box in Ares' hands, "I'll pay you to throw it in the trash and eat something else that isn't going to make you look like you just swallowed a sweaty, fat man's load."

Ares blinks at Charles, confused. "What does weight have to do with it?"

Charles laughs and shakes his head. "Just go get something else to eat."

Growling at the command, Ares stands and drops the box on the table, making it slosh some liquid onto the table. Walking into the small kitchen, he opens the cabinet he last had his things in and grabs a can of vitamin rich and densely packed xemna. He doesn't bother with heating it and returns to the couch to grab his fork and shoves it into the meat.

"Maybe add it in there, make it taste better?" Charles' lips twitch up in a grin, seeming amused by Ares' food and irritation.

"And still run the risk of eating that disgusting quarian shit?" Ares said, flicking his mandibles at the fact that he has to state the obvious. If it wasn't for the vegetables being hidden in with his louza, he wouldn't have needed to get the xemna. What would he successfully do by mixing the two?

Charles rolls his eyes. "God I missed your crass personality, oh so much. You're the one who was bitching about wasting credits." He turns his gaze back to his food, stabbing his fork into the noodles. After a moment, a little softer, he added, "I'm glad you stopped by."

Rumbling in interest to Charles' remark, he lifts a brow plate at Charles as he reaches for his container of mostly liquid and dumps the xemna in with a wet plop and splash. "To answer your earlier question, I don't know how long I'll be on the Citadel."

"Well, you know you're welcome to stay here however long you want." Charles sticks another bite into his mouth, but he doesn't look at Ares as he chews. "You're still wearing your fake plates … planning on leaving again tonight?"

"Where was I supposed to take them off? You were in the bathroom, you know," Ares says gruffly as he shoves a piece of louza he found in the liquid into his mouth.

"The kitchen?" Charles shrugs. "The living room? The bedroom?"

Ares flicks his mandible in annoyance at the obvious tone of sarcasm. "Now name a room with a mirror and access to water."

"The first night you came over, you took them off in the kitchen." Charles' gaze flicks over at Ares before returning to his dinner. "Didn't seem like an issue for you then."

Ares sighs, exasperated, and gives Charles back the same tone. "I don't like just ripping them off. First of all, I want to still use them and doing so without releasing the bond would leave the underside of them unable to adhere again. Second, it hurts."

"Oh … I didn't know." Charles sighs, staring into his food for a moment before setting it on the table and goes to the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"

"Get me one of the bottles of water," Ares answers before stabbing a large piece of xemna with his fork and putting it into his mouth.

Coming back with a bottle of water and a bottle of one of those sugary, carbonated drinks the man seems fond of, Charles hands Ares' the water and sits back down. Twisting the cap off his own drink, Charles takes a few swallows and sits the bottle on the table, tossing the cap down next to it. He picks back up his container of noodles and relaxes into the cushions. "So, Thanatos, how's life been since the last time I saw you?"

It has been so long since he was last on the Citadel for an extended amount of time that allowed him to go to Charles' apartment, Ares forgot the man still didn't know his name. The human had gotten close enough to see—and even touch—his scarring, so why not? It isn't like Ares has to be cautious of an attack, because he could easily break the man with his hands. Charles even pretended that Ares—under the username 'ThisGuy800'—reneged on the threats to find him on ' _Assassins Unveiled'_  and keeps their time together completely secret as far as Ares knows.

"Ares," he says, spinning the cap of his drink to break the seal and taking a long drink.

"What?" Charles' brows knit in confusion.

Lowering the bottle once he drains over a third of it, he rumbles softly and looks directly at Charles to make sure he understands this time. "My name's Ares."

A slow smile spreads over Charles' mouth, and he puts his fork back in the container. "Ares," he repeats, his tone almost awed, filled with the kind of affection Ares' witnessed many pairs from all species use in one way or another in shows of intimacy.

Ares isn't quite sure  _why_ Charles uses the tone over something so simple as a name, but he often gets weird answers whenever he asks Charles things when the man has that expression on his face. Shrugging, Ares pokes at his food in search of the meat hidden in the darkened liquid. "Good a name as any."

Charles chuckles, picking his fork back up. "So,  _Ares_ , how's shit been?"

"Same in terms of contracts, but different in that I was actually the one to offer information for another." Ares pulls a piece of food off his fork with his tongue and swallows. "Never been one for having information, but I can at least provide answers about Blackwatch."

"Blackwatch?" Charles watches him, his head resting against the back of the couch.

"Turian special forces. Their specialty is missions that usually entail espionage and assassinations." Finding another piece of vegetable, he wipes it off on the edge of his container before trying again. He's annoyed to find that he only spears a piece of much the same. "Used to be one many years ago, and I have a contact close enough to know things."

Charles blinks a couple of times, his expression falling flat. "So do all turians do their mandatory assassin training with Blackwatch?" Pausing, he lets the stupid question—hinting back to the idiotic thread on ' _Assassins Unveiled'_ —linger before grinning, and Ares groans in exasperation, only making Charles grin wider. "If you worked for them, why would you give someone else information on them? They fuck you over or something?"

Ares merely looks to Charles with a raised brow plate, wanting to see if the human can figure out what should be obvious.

After a moment of searching Ares' face, Charles' eyebrows start to rise and his jaw drops. "They did that to you." It's not so much a question as a statement, as if he needs to say it outloud for his own benefit.

"Pretty much." Ares leans forward and sets down his container after yet another find of vegetable, figuring he's eaten all the meat. "Used me as a scapegoat. Apparently, I served better as one than I did a soldier." He shrugs. "Had a youngblood do it, too. What an insult."

Charles picks at his food, brow furrowing, smelling almost angry. "Did you kill him?"

Ares rumbles, flicking his good mandible. "Did you ever see a news broadcast about a turian being found in the protein vats, dissolved down to nothing but bones and armor?"

Charles swallows and nods. "Good."

Ares grunts at the response, happy that Charles doesn't ask for more information. He had already lived through it with Jasmine and isn't really ready to do it again without wrapping his hands around someone's neck shortly after.

Too bad Cameric is already dead….

Standing, he grabs his container and takes it to the disposal. He doesn't really have much else to tell Charles about it, but if the man wants to press onto something else, Ares won't protest. He is tired of feeling sorry for himself. That is only a weakness Ares won't let reach the light of day, if he has anything to say about it.

Ares watches Charles as he eats in silence, seemingly deep in thought. Leaning back against the far counter, Ares crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at the man, obviously lost in his own internal shit. That's all fine and everything, but it only makes Ares want a smoke, so he only spends a short time staring at Charles eat before he pushes off from the counter. He doesn't explain where he's going, knowing Charles is at least observant enough to know when Ares is heading for a smoke outside.

* * *

 

Turning his head toward the balcony, Charles catches Ares' trademark flinch when he lights his cigarette. Charles spares a second to wonder why Ares always smokes out on the balcony when he knows he can smoke inside. After a moment, he eases himself from the couch and carries his leftovers to the kitchen, closing the container and sticking it in the refrigerator. Passing back through the living room, he swipes his pack of cigarillos from the top of the speaker, and picks up his bottle of pop, carrying it with him out to the balcony.

Shaking an off-brand cigarillo from the pack, he brushes the bits of tobacco off the filter and puts it in his mouth. Just as he's about to light it, Ares moves, flicking his own lighter, flinching with the flame before holding it out in front of Charles' face. Smiling around the filter, he leans in, using the offered light to get his cigarillo going before stepping back again. He turns, leaning out over the balcony railing and takes a heavy drag, letting the smoke trickle back out of him.

"So, tell me about this associate of yours." Charles takes a drink from the bottle before setting it down on the small table next to him. He knows the question won't get him anywhere, but he just wants to hear the turian talk.

Ares hums as he flicks open and closed the lid of his lighter. "You know I can't tell you anything. Not mine to tell. They wanted information on Blackwatch for a job, but that's all I can tell you."

Charles takes another drag, blowing the smoke out as he speaks. "Yeah." He wonders if Ares was fucking his associate as well as giving them information, but it isn't like it really matters. He guesses it just bothers him, a little bit anyway, that no matter how long they know each other, Ares will never really be able to tell Charles much about his life outside of Charles' apartment. Although, he did say far more tonight than he ever has before.

_Ares. Hmm. Another human god. Maybe someday I'll get to hear what his parents named him._

"Well, I hope they paid you good." He takes another drag, watching the glow as more of the cheap tobacco turns to ash. God, he hates it when credits are tight enough to make him smoke the knockoff crap.

Ares blows out the thick smoke his strong cigarettes make. "Revenge against the organization that fucked me over was good enough, if I got to play a hand in the actual kill." He shifts, and Charles feels Ares looking down at him. "They agreed, so I did it for the cost of my travel fare only."

Charles turns his head up at Ares, the soft glow from his cigarette turning his milky eye a little orange. Charles lifts one corner of his mouth, giving Ares his best smartass smirk. "And yet, you're obviously strapped for credits if you're worrying about the cost of your dinner."

"I'm not worried about credits, I was angry for wasting the credits, and the food was shit." Ares huffs. "I'd much rather spend it on something I know I'll like than tossing it into food I don't even like." He takes a long drag, looking out to the Citadel as smoke drifts through the gap between his face and mandibles.

Charles wonders if the turian really doesn't get his humor, thinking him really that daft. He takes a drag of his cigarillo and shakes his head, chuckling to himself. For someone who is such a troll on the extranet, the man sure doesn't have a clue when someone is just fucking with him. Maybe it's just a turian thing. He waits, smoking in silence, wondering if Ares will say anything about what he walked in on. Most people would've lost their shit, coming in and seeing blood all over the place like that. It didn't surprise him the blood didn't bother Ares … but he thought he might have something to say about the cutting. Even if just to call him an idiot. Not that he wants Ares to call him an idiot, hell, he doesn't even really want to talk about it, but … whatever.

"Thanks again, for dinner." Charles glances back up at Ares. "I didn't get the chance to eat lunch today, and by the time I got home, I just didn't feel like fucking with any of it."

Ares hums and blows out a long exhale of smoke. "You're buying the next one."

"Ha, well, if that's the case, expect shit snacks from Citadel Souvenirs." Charles snorts at Ares when his nose plates bunch up in distaste, taking another drag. "At least I get an employee discount."

"I think I'd rather eat rationed xemna," Ares says as he puts the cigarette to his mouth, inhaling.

Charles laughs, moving a little closer to the man as he turns sideways against the railing. "Yeah … so would I."

Ares snorts, the smoke puffing out of his nose before he blows out the rest. "And you'd get the shits, no doubt, but feel free."

"Probably would eating anything considered food that place sells, too." Charles watches the light fluttering of Ares' mandibles as he smokes, wishing he'd go take his fake plates off and relax. They both know he hates the damn things, but so long as he keeps them on, Charles isn't sure if he plans to stay.

As if feeling Charles' gaze, Ares looks down at him and stares back. After a long moment of silence, Ares pockets his lighter and reaches out to grab the cigarillo from between Charles' lips. He lifts an eyebrow, but he doesn't say anything, shifting to put his hip against the railing.

Holding the cigarillo up to his face, Ares examines it before taking an experimental drag, only to gag and offer it right back. "How can you smoke that?"

Charles laughs, shaking his head as he takes the cigarillo, sticking it back between his lips. He shrugs. "They're cheap."

Grunting, Ares takes a drag from his own cigarette before offering it to Charles. He exhales as he watches Charles' face. Hesitant, and just not stupid, Charles takes a slow, small drag from the cigarette, holding the smoke in his mouth before carefully breathing it in. The thick smoke stings at his throat, coating his tongue with the foreign taste. It isn't really all that bad, though. He'd probably get used to it, if smoking them on a regular basis didn't do some scary dextro shit like eat away at the inside of his lungs.

He hands the cigarette back, and Ares sticks it in his mouth as Charles lets the smoke trickle back out of him, rolling the flavor over his tongue again. "Not bad."

Rumbling, Ares lowers his mandibles while still holding the cigarette between his mouth plates. After a moment, though, he reaches out and flicks the cigarillo from Charles' lips.

He jerks his head back. "Uh!"

Ares only ignores Charles, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his black box of cigarettes. Flipping it open, he holds it out to Charles in a silent command to take one.

Charles raises an eyebrow. "So rude, even when you're being nice." He smirks, taking one of the black cigarettes. Oh well, he'll probably survive smoking a whole one. Probably. He sticks it between his lips and reaches for his lighter, but again, Ares flicks open his, brushing his thumb over the wheel to spark the flame to life and holds it out to Charles. Stepping closer to light the cigarette, Charles stays there even after the flame is extinguished, refusing to look too closely at his urge to be near Ares.

He never expected Ares to return after the first night, but a few weeks later he showed back up, scaring the shit out of Charles in the middle of the night. Not that Charles complained. He was all too happy to let the turian crawl in bed with him once he realized who the hell he was and what he was doing in Charles' apartment. After that, he started to count the days between Ares' visits … dreading when the day came that Ares grew tired of him and just stopped showing up.

Taking a somewhat deeper drag, Charles pulls the smoke straight into his lungs, turning a little to look out over the Citadel. Ares grunts, the sound almost approving, and Charles lets out a soft snort. "This isn't going to kill me, is it?" he asks, taking another drag to—hopefully—emphasize the fact he's joking.

Ares glances over at him and raises a brow plate. "And yours don't?"

"Nope, I'm used to them." Charles grins. "They put hair on my chest. Granted, I don't leave it there … but, you know, it's manly and shit."

Ares finishes off his cigarette and stamps it out on the railing before sending it flying with a flick of his finger. "I don't get humans and their concepts of what hair means. On a female's head it's okay, but not everywhere on her body. Men, however, cut their head hair short—sometimes off completely—and yet, you say hair on the body is manly." He looks down to Charles. "You people need to get your act straight and stop being so contradicting."

Charles huffs, taking a drag of the cigarette and turns, pressing his back against the rail. "Yeah, well, I'll let you in on a little secret. I don't understand it either."

"Great … you aren't even a help in the matter, then." Turning back to the view, Ares thankfully misses Charles' wince as his gaze flicks over the expanse of the Citadel before him. "Humans are strange, yet interesting in an odd way."

"Right back atcha." Charles hums, thinking about the human gender norms and how they've evolved over time. He glances at Ares when he catches the turian's mandibles twitch out of the corner of his eye, finding the assassin glancing sideways at him. "What? You think turians aren't confusing as all hell to other species, too? Turians, quarians, asari, salarians … the whole lot of you. You don't make much sense to us, either."

Ares hums before pushing off of the railing. "Understood." Turning, he heads inside without another word but thankfully goes towards the bathroom instead of the front door.

Charles stays outside, finishing the black cigarette, watching Ares through the balcony door. A smile spreads over his mouth. After the cigarette burns down low enough to be uncomfortable to hold, Charles stubs it out in the ashtray on the table. Picking up his bottle of pop, he takes a drink and makes his way back inside, closing the balcony door behind him. He settles down on the couch, turning sideways, back against the arm, and pulls his feet up.

When Ares comes out of the bathroom again, not only has he removed his fake plates, but he's changed into the casual-wear, loose-fitting outfit Charles bought for him awhile back. Charles grins, the fact Ares kept the clothes, let alone is actually wearing them stirs something inside of him that he doesn't care to examine. He tilts his head a little, letting his gaze roam the length of the turian, taking in his well-muscled frame.

Ares walks over to the coffee table and picks up his bottle of water, taking a drink. After swallowing, he lifts a brow plate at Charles and flicks his mandible. "What?"

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. "Just … enjoying the sights."

Ares thrums and smirks. "Then I believe the saying is 'take a picture, it lasts longer.'"

"You'd kill me if I did, we both know it." Charles pushes himself up from the couch, setting his bottle of water down and crosses the meter or so between him and Ares. Reaching out, he runs a hand along Ares' forearm and up his shoulder before tugging at the hem of the sleeveless shirt. "It looks good on you."

Ares tilts his head, giving Charles a quizzical look. "It's just clothes," he says as he raises his hand to run the talon of his forefinger along Charles' mouth, the point sharp but not cutting into the skin.

Warmth creeps along Charles' spine at the contact, and he smirks, nipping at the talon. "Maybe. But I like them on you, almost as much as I'd like them off of you."

Ares growls deep in his chest as he runs his talon along Charles' cheek with slightly more pressure than on his lips, and Charles hums, turning his cheek up into the touch. "Did you use all the Medi-gel?"

Racing thoughts slamming to a standstill as quickly as if he'd just been in a skycar accident, Charles swallows, his gaze drifting away from Ares, shame pressing in on him. After a moment, he clears his throat and forces a smile on his face, trying to save the moment. "No," he says and then pauses. "I've always got plenty on hand."

Ares hums, as if in approval, and grips his chin a little rougher. Lifting Charles' face higher, bringing it closer to his, Ares leans down and shoves his tongue in Charles' mouth with unexpected force. Shock fills Charles' mind, freezing him in place for a second. Ares has never … kissing isn't something they did. It only takes the one second for his mind to switch gears, though, and he pushes into Ares, meeting the turian's tongue with his own. Wrapping his fingers around Ares' biceps, he pulls at him, trying to get their bodies closer despite the awkward angle the height difference creates for them.

Ares pushes back, his teeth scraping over Charles' lip, drawing a moan from him. Jesus Christ, he needs to get Ares to the bed. He tugs at the mountain of a man, trying to lead him toward the bedroom, but Ares reaches down, grabbing Charles' ass with both hands and hauls him up. Charles wraps his legs around the turian's waist, throwing his arms over Ares' neck to keep from falling over backwards. Ares lets out a jagged sounding thrum, vibrating through his chest as he continues to push into Charles with his tongue.

Navigating around the table, Ares carries him in the opposite direction of the bedroom, making Charles whimper. Ares pulls back, giving his lip a rough nip, as if reprimanding Charles for the sound, but it only excites him even more. A moment later, his back presses against the glass of the balcony doors. He uses his newfound leverage to press himself closer against Ares, his cock hardening between the two of them.

Ares closes what little gap is left between them and digs his talons into Charles' ass with a bruising grip. He wedges a hand down against Charles' body to grope the bugle in Charles' pants and growls, long tongue shoving harder into his mouth. He nips at Ares' tongue, feeding off the man's aggressive displays of passion, his own low growl rising up in his throat as he rubs himself against Ares' hand. Pulling away from the kiss, Ares drops his mouth to Charles' shoulder and sinks his teeth in, cutting through the fabric of Charles' shirt, instantly drawing blood.

Charles bucks his hips, nearly losing himself entirely with the sudden, sharp stabs of pain. It takes all his self-control not to cum right then and there, but he has so much more he wants to do with the turian before the night is through. "Take me to the bedroom," he says between gasps, bright lights dancing behind his closed eyes.

"Why?" Ares practically snarls as he laps at the blood, rumbling deeply so the sound vibrates through his chest and against Charles' ribs. "This is closer."

Charles huffs but it turns into a pleading moan. "Because I can barely move."

Ares barks a rough laugh before adjusting his hand on Charles' infuriatingly-still-covered-cock, slashing his talons through the sweatpants so only boxers lie between Ares' hand and the thing Charles most wants him to touch. Charles groans, half because he has to admit that is goddamn hot, but also because he really doesn't have the credits to keep up with the turian's penchant for destroying clothes. Obviously, Ares has zero intention of giving Charles his way, and he isn't really in a position to argue, so instead, he wriggles his arms down the best he can to start tugging the turian's shirt up, splaying his fingers against hide, plate, and scars wherever his hands can reach.

Ares leans back enough to remove his hand from Charles' groin and yanks off his own shirt. Whether because he likes the touch or because it's in the way, Charles doesn't know but can't complain. Instead of returning his hand back between their bodies, Ares steps away and tugs Charles' shirt in a demanding manner. Bracing his ass against the glass, Charles pulls his back away from it enough to lift his shirt up over his head and tosses it aside. Sliding his hands over Ares' shoulders, he pulls the man back, wanting to feel his bare chest press against Ares.

Ares rumbles, the sound hoarse, and sets Charles down. "Take those off," he commands as he points to Charles' boxers and steps back to work on getting his own pants off.

Charles reaches for Ares instead, muttering, "Let me do it."

Ares grumbles something quietly enough that it doesn't translate, but he relents and releases his grip on the waistband of his pants. Charles grins, hooking his thumbs beneath the elastic and works them down over the sharp curves of Ares' hips—taking his time unwrapping his present. Careful, he eases them down in the front just enough to see Ares has already slipped past his plates, leaving himself exposed. Before Ares can grumble—because Charles knows that he will—Charles drops to his knees, running his tongue along the length of the turian's cock.

Ares hums and lays a hand on Charles' head, the pressure light and gentle enough for Charles to ignore for now. Taking as much of Ares' cock in his mouth as he can tolerate to start, he wraps his hand around what's left at the base, moving in slow, even motions. Ares lets out a deep, rumbling exhale, his scarred throat often making the sound even more scratchy when aroused. He stands still as Charles moves, but he seems to grow bored quickly, leaving Charles in dismay at yet another failing attempt to get the turian to relax and be patient. Ares shifts, gripping Charles' head in his massive hand, preventing him from moving. Heart beginning to race, panic over an old, deeply-rooted fear threatening to take hold of him, Charles presses his palms against Ares thighs and sinks his teeth into the tender flesh, not hard enough to really hurt, but threatening.

Huffing in what sounds like amusement, Ares pulls Charles' head further away before bucking his hips, ignoring the scrape of teeth across his cock as he rams it further into Charles' mouth. Hurt and betrayal flare to life in Charles' chest as he does his best not to vomit over Ares' cock, though he'd deserve it. His mind races, trying to hold on to a rational understanding of the situation. Trying to remind himself it was Ares and not ….

Charles casts an angry glare at the turian, but Ares merely smirks, pulling his hips back once more, pausing just long enough for Charles to realize he intends to do it again. Pushing as hard as he can from his position, Charles shoves at the turian's thighs, pulling himself back. Ares lets him disengage, but he still has that look on his face that tells Charles he thinks there's something funny about what he just did.

Climbing back to his feet, he eyes Ares through narrowed lids, crossing his arms over his chest to hide his trembling fingers. "Not cool."

Ares grins, cocksure and either oblivious or just apathetic to the maelstrom of emotions brewing inside of Charles. Reaching for Charles' hips, he slips his taloned fingers into the waistband of Charles' boxers, starting to tug them down. Charles furrows his brow and steps back, slapping Ares' hands away. He might like things rough, might even relish the pain, but he isn't just a fuck hole and is totally not okay with being treated like nothing more than a sexbot. Christ, of all nights … Charles narrows his eyes further, wrapping his arms around himself, putting up an emotional wall before he lets something out he doesn't want to deal with. Not with Ares here.

Lifting a brow plate, Ares steps back, finally seeming to realize Charles isn't playing games. His gaze roams over Charles, undamaged mandible flicking in a clear show of annoyance. "What's your problem?"

Charles fights back a sneer, working to keep his voice level. "I'm just really not okay with that."

" _You're_ the one who got down on your knees." Ares shakes his head, mandibles flaring and sub-vocals trilling with his confusion and irritation. "Explain to me the two different signals you're giving me."

Charles takes another step back, hitting the glass of the balcony door, unwanted memories pushing in around the edges of his mind. "I was trying to do something nice, if you didn't like it, you should've just said so." He wraps his arms a little tighter around himself. "Grabbing my head and not letting me move it before ramming your cock down my throat is … that's not something I'd consent to."

Maybe it's just a turian thing, clearly his gag reflex doesn't work the same as Charles' considering he swallows his food pretty much whole. Maybe he doesn't get how incredibly uncomfortable that sort of thing is for a human, why Charles doesn't like it. But either way, Charles  _doesn't_  want him to do it for a number of reasons, and that needs to be made crystal clear now.

Ares tilts his head and flicks his mandibles, and Charles thinks he's actually mulling it over. "Fine. I get it now." Straightening, Ares hums and glances around the room, his expression searching, but for what, Charles doesn't know. "I haven't done this before."

Charles furrows his brow and shakes his head a little, trying to piece together what the hell the man means. "Done what before?"

Ares looks back down to Charles and waves a hand between the two of them. "This."

Relaxing a little, Charles lifts an eyebrow in question. "You mean … have sex with the same person more than once?"

Ares' brow plates lower, and he pinches his mandibles in against his face. "I've done  _that_  before." Sighing, he crosses his arms and drums the talons from one hand onto the forearm of the other.

The confused, frustrated look on the turian's face is enough to cool Charles' own fears, he can tell Ares wasn't trying to be malicious, not like …. Ares' spoken 'this' twists and turns inside of Charles' skull, pulling at something inside of him. A part of him wants to believe Ares is implying something more than just a Citadel booty call exists between the two of them, but another part is afraid it might be  _exactly_ what Ares means.

"Just give me a minute," Charles says, cutting off the line of thought as he rubs a hand absently up and down his opposite arm. Taking a steadying breath, he rolls his head on his neck, willing tight muscles to loosen again. After a moment, he forces himself to drop his arms, sucking in a deep breath and takes a step closer to Ares, holding out his hand. "Try again?"

Ares glances at Charles' hand before uncrossing his arms. He emits a sound very close to a purr as he takes Charles' hand and turns, giving him a slight tug towards the bedroom. Charles smiles, letting the turian lead him through the apartment, giving his fingers a little squeeze.


	2. Getting Close

Walking into the bedroom, Ares pulls Charles to the foot of the bed and stops to look back at the human. He flicks his good mandible and trails his eyes over the smaller man’s body, unmoving, but with an idea slowly forming in his mind. Charles shifts a little, his gaze steady on Ares’ face. The man swallows audibly and takes a step closer to Ares, his hand moving over Ares’ forearm. 

Before Charles can get too close, Ares lays his free hand on the man’s shoulder. He gives it slight pressure, urging Charles to sit, leaving enough room for him to resist if he chooses. Rumbling, Ares jerks his head towards the bed behind Charles in explanation. Understanding without Ares needing to speak, Charles sits on the edge of the bed and looks up to Ares with a slight wariness in his eyes. The fact that, behind those nerves, Ares also sees an alertness helps to convince him this might be a hell of an idea. Either that, or there’ll be another standstill of conflicting signals between the two of them. Releasing the man’s shoulder, Ares gives him an encouraging hum before he pushes Charles’ knees with his own and kneels in the open space granted to him.

Charles raises an eyebrow at the move, but doesn’t speak. Ares chuckles, not used to Charles not having some kind of witty remark in response to the change in their dynamic. Ares leans forward and slides his tongue along the crease running down the center of Charles’ chest, marking the division between pectoral muscles. If the man doesn’t get what Ares is trying to get at, then he’s denser than even Ares is.

Despite his concern that his own signals won’t translate without possessing lips to actually mimic Charles, Ares hears the man make a low, human kind of purr as his too-many-fingers run down Ares’ larger forearm. Thrumming in response to the human vocalilization of obvious approval, Ares rolls his tongue over his bite mark on Charles’ shoulder and rumbles at the shifting scent in the room. Charles stirs at the touch, his breath more ragged than before. Ares shifts to adjust for his height and dips his hands under Charles’ knees, running them up along the underside of the man’s soft thighs.

Aiding in his positioning, Charles slides his feet along the floor as he starts to straighten his legs, but Ares grips his thighs before he’s at an angle that will make it difficult for Ares to be able to get the man’s boxers off. Before he can work on that, Charles hooks his ankles behind Ares’ legs and drops a hand to lay at the curve of Ares’ neck and leans in. At first, Ares has no idea what the hell the man’s doing, but he soon understands when Charles presses his lips to Ares’ mouth plates. Still not used to ever kissing someone, Ares opens his mouth to let Charles guide him at whatever pace the man wants. Much slower than Ares’ own hunger-fueled gesture, Charles’ tongue glides along the edge of Ares’ mouth plates, as if testing his reaction.

Thrumming at the different way of kissing—and one even more alien to him in its obvious, gentle intent—Ares slides his own tongue out to meet Charles’ and wraps it around the man’s much shorter, less flexible one. He lets Charles lead, feeling how it is only a few moments before Charles’ kiss becomes more heated and demanding. Ares growls at the kiss moving to more familiar territory, but the damn human pulls back before Ares can really taste him. He flicks a mandible in irritation but then feels the edges of Charles’ flat teeth nipping at it.

Huffing a breath, Ares figures the man has had his fill, and Ares leans back, sliding his hands up to the waistband of Charles’ boxers once again. He pauses a moment and looks up to Charles with a raised brow. He really wants to know now if Charles will slap his hands away again, and he’ll wait until he gets the signal right this time. Charles smiles and lifts up his hips, and that’s a good enough assurance for Ares.

Pulling the boxers over Charles’ hips and urging him to bend one leg after the other so Ares can get them off, he tosses them aside to be forgotten. He’s relieved to see Charles is still hard, because he doesn’t really know how to make a human aroused in this position. That sort of thing isn’t really a problem for turians, and though he knows how the females work, human men are a bit different. Hell, they aren’t even like turian men, so that is even more of a challenge with how … exposed they are all day, everyday.

Flicking his mandibles, Ares runs his tongue along the points of his teeth to remind himself they are far from Charles’ flat ones. He lowers his head and feels Charles’ weight shift as he gives Ares more room when he opens his mouth, long tongue sliding out to run from Charles’ base to tip. He swirls his tongue around the rounder head before flicking his tongue directly over the tip, tasting Charles, and he thrums in pride at Charles’ gasp and twitch of hips in Ares’ hands. His flavor is much different than Ares expects, but it’s not necessarily bad—he’s had much worse from supposed ‘food’—and he curls his tongue around the head and squeezes slightly. Charles moans, and Ares feels the man’s thighs tense against his palms.

Releasing his tongue’s hold, Ares leans back enough to see Charles’ face. His eyes are focused on what Ares is doing, but they’re glassy. Ares doesn’t have to be an expert at a human’s reaction to receiving ‘head’ to know his inexperience still feels good to Charles. Lifting his head to look down at Charles in his leaning position, Ares smirks at how the man’s hands are clenching the sheet with a tight grip.  

“Do you trust me?” Ares asks, running the very tips of his hand’s talons teasingly along Charles’ shaft to make it even harder for the human to think.

There’s a decidedly long pause before Charles licks his lips and nods, voice dry and rough when he says, “Yeah.”

He doesn’t know why trust in something so trivial gets a purr to erupt from his throat, but Ares doesn’t complain over the fact that, after the blowout before, he can still get Charles to trust him putting his mouth—with sharp teeth—around Charles’ cock. Smirking, he grips Charles’ length with his hand before giving it a single stroke and returning his head between Charles’ thighs. He dips his head to lick the human’s exposed testicles—another evolutionary oddity—and flicks his mandibles as they, and his cheek plates, feel a difference in texture over Charles’ thighs. Curling his tongue back into his mouth, he gives a quick glance to the difference in Charles’ skin and sees the obvious signs of Medi-gel use.

_ Right. I walked in on him using a blade to cut up his skin. Stupid, strange human. _

Ignoring the concealed cuts—their reason being none of his damn business and not something he wants to ruin the moment with—he returns to what he was doing and runs the flat of his tongue along the noticeable crease between Charles’ balls. He feels Charles’ cock twitch against his nose and flicks his tongue once at its base before sitting up and opening his mouth to wrap around Charles’ length.

Letting out a deep moan, Charles closes his eyes, dropping his head back to face the ceiling, thighs tensing in Ares’ hands. Ares growls at the sound and licks at the cock in his mouth before flattening his tongue against the heated flesh and begins slowly lifting and then lowering his head, testing the action and trying to adjust appropriately to get it right. Charles lets out a soft whimper, one hand leaving the blanket and moving towards Ares before he jerks it back down again.

Rumbling in his throat, Ares releases Charles and raises a brow. “You know that’s not a barrier anymore, don’t you? We’ve gotten well past hesitant touches.”

Charles looks at him, eyes dazed and confused until he blinks. Licking his lips, he shakes his head. “No, it’s not that.” He smiles, some of that smartass coming back to his eyes. “But if you keep this up, you’re going to get a mouthful of cum.”

Ares flicks his mandibles, remembering something he has seen in Fornax. “Right, humans don’t have the same amount of stamina …. Want me to stop?”

Charles snorts a little. “My stamina is just fine, thank you.” He lays back all the way on the bed, tucking his hands behind his head, but holds Ares’ gaze. “Stop when you want.”

“Then why did you make it sound like it was a bad thing to continue?” Ares raises a brow plate and releases Charles’ thigh pushing up a little higher to reach under the man’s head and pull out one of his hands, dropping it onto Ares’ fringe. Why the man thinks touches are forbidden is ridiculous considering it has been a while since Ares gave Charles permission to touch.

Besides, it isn’t like Ares is completely against touch. He  _ did  _ let the man stick his tongue in his mouth, after all. That, and he did just have Charles’ cock in his mouth.

_ Strange human…. _

Glancing up to Charles with the intent to demand he stop being so confusing with the touches and reluctance, he sees something flash in the man’s eyes. It’s gone just as quickly as Charles removes his hand after only a few seconds and drops it to Ares’ arm instead. Humming, Ares just figures he’s not going to get any encouragement while doing it, he lowers his head and takes Charles’ cock back into his mouth. He has enough of a hang of the act that, when Charles tightens his hold on Ares’ forearm and makes an approving sound, Ares curls his tongue around the man’s length and begins to bob his head, picking up speed when his saliva coats Charles’ cock enough.

Charles begins to mutter curses and praises to some holy figure Ares has heard of before, but some of what the man’s saying doesn’t completely translate into words from incoherent babbling. Growling around Charles makes the man suck in a choked breath, and his cock twitches against Ares’ tongue. Ares relaxes his jaw and shifts to have an angle that lets him take Charles in deep enough that his mouth plates press to the man’s groin, feeling the length touch the roof of his mouth deeper than before.

Charles’ hips still beneath Ares’ hands, but the man’s breath soon becomes heavy pants as he twists and brings his other hand down to grip onto Ares’ forearm hard enough for him to feel it past his thicker hide. He purrs in approval and hears Charles grunt out a ‘fuck’ as he lifts his head from the blankets and stares down at Ares, eyes alight with lust and a hungry fire. In response, Ares slides his tongue along Charles’ cock in his mouth as he pulls back just to take him in deep again, this time swallowing against the man’s length.

Catching Ares’ gaze, Charles licks his lips. “Come fuck me.”

Smirking around the man’s cock, he growls in challenge, but releases Charles from his mouth. He stands and licks his mouth and mandibles, cock hard as stone from the act. “Which position?”

Charles rolls over, crawling to the head of the bed before lifting up on his spread knees and grabbing the headboard. Glancing over his shoulder, he lifts a questioning eyebrow. Ares snorts and climbs up onto the bed, moving behind Charles and kneeling at his back. Taking his own cock in hand, he circles his tip around Charles’ hole, and Charles presses back.  

“Hard or slow?” he asks as he runs his other hand down Charles’ ribs.

“Start slow,” Charles says with a soft chuckle, “I’ll need the chance to adjust, but then … hard.”

Ares hums in acknowledgment and nods, saying, “Just give the word, then.”  

Sliding his hand down from Charles’ ribs to his hip, Ares grips him firm enough to keep him still but without the pressure necessary to hold him should the man truly want to be free. Lining himself up, Ares slowly begins to press into Charles’ warm body, tipping his head down to watch himself sink in. Charles lets out a groan, dropping his head down between his arms, pushing back further with a moan.

Coming flush, Ares growls and leans his head back to take in the sensation of tight heat. He exhales deeply and swivels his hips, doing the same with Charles’ in order to relax the man more. Hurting him won’t get them any of the release they need. He feels like he gives Charles enough time to relax before slowing pulling back and pushing in, further testing Charles’ comfort level. When the man doesn’t wince or react in a negative way, Ares quickens his pace slightly, adding a split second pause between push and pull. Charles seems to become used to the feeling and begins to press back into Ares’ thrusts. It isn’t but a few more until the man speaks, his voice airy from arousal when he gives the go ahead to move harder.

Growling with mandibles spread, Ares leans over Charles, running his tongue over the bite he left on the man’s shoulder. He tightens his grip on the man’s hip when Charles bucks back into Ares and offers more of his neck. Ares shifts a hand on the headboard, holding up his weight.  He speeds up his thrusts, closing his eyes in pleasure at the loud sound of his plates against Charles’ ass and begins to nip at Charles’ skin, laving his tongue over the redness his teeth leave and spurred on by each whimper and grind he gets from Charles. For his part, Ares hears Charles grunt incoherently, groaning and making wordless hums in between his indescribable sounds of increasing lust.

“Fuck,” Ares snarls, not caring if it really translates with his vocals so thick and loud enough to nearly drown out the curse. He figures it translates well enough when Charles lets out a throaty rumble and drops his hand to his own cock. Fucking Charles hard enough to feel the bed begin to protest, Ares nudges Charles’ head further aside to set his teeth to the already clotted bite he left before. 

Pumping himself faster, Charles’ head rolls back, his face brushing against Ares’ and he whispers, “Please.”

Ares growls deeply and sinks his teeth into the desperate sounding man, tasting the metallic blood as it fills his mouth. Tightening his hold on Charles’ hip and the headboard, he tenses when he feels the man spasm, shouting in a strange mix of pleasure and pain as he cums. Ares has to pause a moment to feel the clenching of Charles’ muscles before he releases the man’s shoulder and turns his mouth level with Charles’ ear.

“Tell me you’re still ready to continue,” he says, circling his tongue around Charles’ ear.

Charles shudders, but begins a slow movement against Ares, a soft smile spreading over his lips as he turns his head a little more to look at Ares. “Always.”

Ares matches his expression and licks Charles’ lips, leaving a red streak behind. “Use your muscles, and it’ll go faster.”

Charles licks the smear of his own blood from his mouth and hums, tongue darting back out again to check for more. He shifts a little, pulling himself up straighter and moves his hands to the wall above the bed, squeezing around Ares’ cock.

Ares grunts and closes his eyes at the feeling before lowering his mouth to Charles’, sliding past the man’s lips to let him taste himself on Ares’ tongue. Charles murmurs a wordless sound as his tongue meets Ares’, lapping hungrily at Ares and the traces of blood, and it fuels Ares’ own need. Using his tongue to curl around, squeeze, and fill Charles’ mouth forcefully, Ares begins to move again, sinking his talons into the headboard when Charles tightens around his cock again.

Thrumming deeply, Ares flexes his hand against Charles’ hip as he pulls the man into each of his rough thrusts. Charles begins a pattern of clench and release as he slides along Ares’ cock, and Ares’ bucks falter as he curses again beneath his breath. The scent of Charles’ cum is heady, but the man’s husky voice questioning Ares’ pleasure pulls a heavy moan from his mouth, and he hunches over the smaller man, cursing a turian word that he knows doesn’t translate.

“Fuck,” he snarls, talons digging into Charles’ flesh to draw blood, “I’m close.”

Charles picks up his pace, squeezing a little harder each time, his voice a rough whisper. “Cum for me.”

Ares never knew, but his body seems to like the command as he groans and presses his head against Charles’ shoulder as his body tenses. His hips make shallow thrusts as he cums hard, stealing his breath as his muscles twitch. As he pants, eyes closed, he feels Charles turn his head slightly, resting it against Ares’. The gesture and strong scents of the two of them makes him purr as he presses his head to Charles’ with enough force to be known as something more than just a touch, something Ares doesn’t really have a name for—or the mind to consider the possible complications of it.

As the last of Ares’ release pumps into Charles, he grunts softly when it finally ends to leave him drained, yet more relaxed than he’s been in a long time. He eases his grip enough to pull his talons out of the headboard and Charles’ flesh. Charles reaches down, covering Ares’ hand on his hip and gently pulls. Ares lets Charles guide his hand as the man presses the flat of Ares’ palm to his chest, holding it there. Ares feels Charles’ heart racing beneath his sternum and sighs as the feeling somehow calms him further.

“Fuck,” Ares says, voice hoarse as he presses his closed mouth to Charles’ neck, feeling the pulse rushing against his sensitive plates.

Charles let out a soft chuckle, making his muscles twitch a little around Ares. “Mhmm.” Hand squeezing Ares’ before slowly drifting away, he reaches up, wrapping the hand around the back of Ares’ head, gentle fingers kneading at the exposed hide beneath his fringe and making Ares purr embarrassingly.

Opening his mouth plates, Ares laps at the sweat beaded along Charles’ neck for a moment, tasting it. As the saltiness sets on his tongue, Ares releases the headboard and sits up, Charles’ hand dropping away and breath slowing back closer to normal. He takes a moment to ghost the tips of his talons down Charles’ spine to see his reaction. Charles curls away with a gasp and Ares nearly laughs as the man’s skin prickles up into tiny bumps, the almost unnoticeable hairs standing up. Before Ares can relish the man’s surprise, Charles arches into the touch and hums, mouth closed so that it sounds throatier.

Still, Ares does let out a snort as he grips Charles’ hips and slowly pulls them away as he shifts back, slipping out into the chill air. He twitches his mandibles, missing the tight heat, but releases Charles’ hips to let the man sit or stretch. Charles turns, lowering himself to the mattress and rolls over on his back, one hand flopping down over his still heaving chest, contented gaze on Ares. 

Lifting a brow plate at the stare, Ares huffs. “What?”

Charles chuckles and shrugs. “I just like looking at you, what’s so wrong with that?”

Turning his head, Ares mumbles about Charles being a strange human before standing up and heading to the bathroom. He grabs a towel and runs hot water over it before wringing it out. He returns to find Charles still staring and flicks his bad mandible in frustration over the constant looks, but Charles seems to understand and looks away.

“Roll back over,” Ares says as he approaches the bed and sits on it beside Charles.

Brow twitching, Charles doesn’t say anything, but does as he was told. Rolling over to his stomach, he shoves the pillow out of the way and presses the side of his face flat against the mattress, turned away from Ares. Ares leans over him and runs the towel over the bloody bite on Charles’ neck first, cleaning off the mess. Charles’ muscles twitch a little at first but relax again easy enough. 

“Do you want Medi-gel for it?” Ares asks, moving the towel to clean Charles’ ass of his cum.

The man stays quiet for so long, Ares begins to wonder if he even heard him. After a moment, Charles shakes his head a little and simply says, “No.”

Ares rumbles, not sure what to think. “People will probably see it, you know. It’ll be obvious you’re with a turian.”

Charles shoves his elbows into the mattress, lifting and twisting enough to look at Ares. “Does that bother you? Put Medi-gel on it, if you want.”

Rumbling in confusion, Ares tilts his head slightly. “Why would it bother me?”

Charles shrugs, laying back down as he speaks, directing his words at the wall on the other side of the bed. “You’re a secretive person … I don’t know.”

Ares grunts and throws the dirty towel towards the bathroom, then shifts to lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Unless you’re giving people impressions of it, they can’t really figure out  _ which _ turian bit you.”

Charles scoffs. “My social life pretty much consists of  _ ‘Assassins Unveiled’ _ , dealing with asshole customers, an even bigger asshole boss, and the times you come by. I doubt anyone will notice, and if they do, they’re not likely to say anything to me about it.”

Ares mulls over some of what Charles said, humming in thought. “If you didn’t like me finding you, you can always say so.”

Charles pushes up again, turning to look at Ares with an almost amusing expression on his face, forehead wrinkled, one brow pulls in and down tight even as the other arches up. “You’ve got to be kidding.” He snorts shaking his head. “I spend half my time when you’re not here wondering where you are, when you’ll show up again—if you’ll show up again … your visits are pretty much all I have to look forward to.”

For the first time since he was a fledgling, Ares trills in shock, mouth opening slightly but unable to really say anything. No one has ever wondered where he was except for when he was out on a job and the client wanted to know what the status of the contract was. It’s an odd development. One he isn’t sure how to respond to.

Red creeps across Charles’ chest, up his neck, and spreads itself across his cheeks. His gaze drops and he slowly lowers himself back to the mattress, turning his face away from Ares where he can’t gauge Charles’ emotions by the looks on his face. “Well, that sounded  _ way _ more pathetic than I intended.” He huffs out a heavy breath and pushes himself up from the mattress, but Ares grabs his wrist before he can escape—both physically and, as Ares has come to notice, the man’s own self.

Charles stops, gaze dropping to Ares hand on his wrist before slowly lifting to meet Ares’ eyes. “What?”

Ares tightens his hold but doesn’t intend to actually hurt Charles as he thrums, saying, “No one has ever looked forward to me being around since I was a child.”

Charles’ eyes move back and forth as he searches Ares’ face, eventually he gives Ares a weak smile and shrugs. “Well, congratulations, you’ve got a loser looking out for you to show up in between jobs.”

Ares’ hand drops from Charles’ arm, and he rolls over to face the wall much like Charles had. “I need to get some sleep.” He really doesn’t, but he doesn’t want to discuss having the only person who gives a shit about him be so flippant about the fact after he just admitted to not having the feeling since before everything went to shit.

“Ares … I’m sorry,” Charles says, remorse and confusion weighing heavily in his voice. “I don’t handle … I don’t even know what to do with …” He lets out an exasperated sounding sigh. “I’m a little fucked in the head, I’ve got issues, but they’re mine, and they’re about me, not you. I love having you here, I look forward to seeing you, and I’m really glad you’re here now.”

Ares draws in a long breath before letting it out, frowning at the wall before him. “I don’t know how to do this. Even before …” He motions vaguely towards his face and says, “... this, I never had anyone close but my parents and sisters. I didn’t have mates, I didn’t have anything beyond blowing off steam in between training. My life was devoted to the very thing that betrayed me, did this to me, so I don’t know what you want from me. I can’t really prove anything to you with words….”

Silence fills the air for a moment, but then the bed shifts, Charles’ weight stretching out behind Ares and an arm slides around his waist, fingers tucking in between his abdomen and the bed. “I don’t know how to do this, either. Not even really sure what this is … I try not to think on it too much because I figure if I start trying to fit it into a box, I’m just setting myself up to look like an idiot.”

“All I can give you is my trust,” Ares says, inhaling heavily enough that he feels his chest expanding against his cowl. “I don’t have anything else, but you can have that. You just need to ask.”

Charles moves a little closer, his face pressing against Ares’ back. “Trust me, Ares.”

Ares lifts his head enough to see Charles in his peripheral. “I do. I don’t know how to prove that.”

“I trust you, too.” Charles moves his hand, shifting it up to rest against Ares’ keel. “I don’t need you to prove it, you already have.”

Ares flicks his mandibles in confusion. “And how did I do that?”

Charles grins, pressing his face closer against Ares back and kisses his plates. “You took off your prosthetic face plates and spent the night with me the first night we were together. You admitted to me what you do for a living, you’ve told me a little about what you’ve been through … I mean, how many people actually know you have sisters?”

“Two … Used to be three.” Ares scowls as he looks into the distance. “Stupid bastard …” he says aloud, but not directly to Charles enough to figure the man will pay it attention.

Charles hums, fingers tracing the seam of Ares’ keel. He lets the comment linger in the air for a little bit, and then, in a voice more lacking in emotion than Ares has ever heard from Charles, he says, “I tell people I’m an only child, but it’s a lie. I had a sister.” His fingers still against Ares’ chest. “She died when I was a teenager, some men raped her and beat her to death while they made me watch. They nearly did the same to me, but I lived. My father blames me for her death.”

Ares doesn’t have a response to that, knowing he has no words to. Instead, he lifts Charles’ hand enough so he can roll onto his back, but he puts the hand back down once he settles. He stares up at the ceiling but still manages to see the way Charles’ eyes glisten. Unshed tears, Ares reminds himself, and finds himself stroking his thumb over the back of Charles’ hand, his vocals rumbling as soothingly as he can given how fucked up his throat is.

“Life got really shitty for a long time after that, a lot of bad things happened to me, and I did some bad things to others … not—nothing like that, not what those men did to Sarah,” Charles says, his voice faltering when he says his sister’s name, “but still fucked up. So … I’m not exactly the poster boy for mental health, and I don’t really know how to relate to people or … emotions.”

Ares is damn sure he isn’t either, even before the Hierarchy fucked him over. Put lightly, he was as stiff as the worst of turian stereotypes, entire being focused on serving his people and little of his own life. Dying once in that damn fire didn’t do him any favors in the department, either. Fuck, it made it worse.

Ares grips Charles’ hand, feeling the difference in the man’s hand when compared to his own. “I don’t know either …. I’m bound to fuck things up more than be successful in this. You’re the only person I’ve been close to that isn’t another assassin. And there’s only one of those as it is.”

Charles hums. “I haven’t been close to anyone else since Sarah died.” He shifts around, scooting close enough to rest his head on Ares’ chest. “So, we’ll both try not to fuck it up and just be happy there’s a ‘this’ between us.”

Ares huffs an amused attempt to act unaffected but turns to rest his chin on Charles’ head. Rumbling, he rubs his chin in the man’s hair. If there is one thing he can do after hearing about Charles’ life, it’s know he, of all people, has the means and ability to get revenge for him. It worked for Ares with his own hatred for Cameric, and it’ll work for Charles too.


	3. The Hunt Begins

Sleep didn’t come to Ares, even compared to the too few hours he usually needs to function.  What Charles said kept replaying in his head, the sound of the man’s voice twisting until Ares felt each word pounding against his skull. He admitted to not being the prime example of a ‘normal life,’ but he had one pretty close to the ideal when he was younger and still living at his parents’ home. The concept of turning anger and pain towards one’s own child left a bad taste in Ares’ mouth, making his stomach roll much like it did when he’d tried ryncol before. Good thing that he’s already sent a message out to his contact best for data mining and plans to set things right.

He’s lost any intent to force himself to sleep after a couple of hours staring up at the ceiling, the soft glow of the Citadel dancing across the textured material above the bed. The more he thinks, the harder it becomes to keep his furious vocals from waking Charles. Giving up, Ares shifts Charles off him and sits up, getting out of bed. He glances over his shoulder to see if Charles felt his movements and woke up, but he only hears a slurred groan before Charles rolls over. Making his way into the living room, Ares pulls on his pants and pats the pocket to make sure what he’s looking for is still there, the form of his box of cigarettes relieving. After sneaking out of the bedroom, he didn’t really want to sneak back in to search for them.

Ares steps out onto the balcony, sighing slightly as the chiller air caresses his scars. He closes his eyes for a moment as he digs the box out of one pocket and the lighter from the opposite side. He opens his eyes long enough to use a finger to lift up a cigarette, taking it into his mouth, and brings the lighter to the cigarette. He grumbles at his unconscious flinch as the flame bursts to life but pushes the cigarette into the flame to set its end alight. Flicking the lighter closed, snuffing out the decisively small—and unassuming—flame, he tucks both cigarette box and lighter back into their places before inhaling, letting the smoke tickle his throat as he holds it a moment.

Taking his cigarette between his fingers, he blows out the smoke and watches it float, dissipating in the cool Citadel air. He leans an arm on the railing and watches the distant skycars, an ever constant rush of meaningless citizens going someplace to live their equally pointless lives. Even as a child, Ares couldn’t stand living with a ‘routine’ and often gave into the spontaneous. Blackwatch never trained that out of him, either.

He hears footsteps, a shuffle to the sound, alerting him to Charles being awake just before Ares smells him in the air. Looking over his shoulder, Ares watches the half-asleep man yawn and rub at his partially closed eyes. Charles steps up beside Ares and sticks one of his disgusting tasting cigarette things between his lips. Ares reaches into his pocket, faster than the half-asleep man, and flicks open his lighter, thumb sparking the flame before he holds it up for Charles’ to use. Smiling, Charles leans in, lighting his cigarette before ducking under Ares’ arm to move in against his side.

Ares pockets his lighter and rumbles at Charles’ warm, bare chest against his own unclothed side. “You’re awake early,” he says, taking a drag from his cigarette.

Charles takes a drag from his cigarette, blowing out the smoke before glancing up at Ares. “I woke up, and you were gone, thought you might’ve left ….”

Blowing out smoke, Ares flicks his mandibles. “I will have to leave soon,” he says before shifting to open his omni-tool, “but I want you to do something before then.”

Letting out a soft sigh, Charles looks up at him again, lifting an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Ares pulls up a Citadel delivery company specializing in purchasing groceries instead of actual meals he once saw a target use. Granted, Ares only paid attention because he ended up poisoning the food before it made it to its destination, otherwise he didn’t really have use for it. Not until today. He already linked one of his accounts—one that doesn’t have so much death associated with it, making it the closest to ‘legitimate’ Ares has—and all Charles needs to do is order and confirm.  

He brings up the main screen and shifts his arm for Charles to see. “I’m sending you an extranet link to this company. I want you to order yourself food.”

Charles pulls back a little, brow furrowing. “Why?”

“Because you need food. And either you pick or I will, and I can’t promise I’ll actually get anything you’ll like.” Not waiting for Charles to accept, Ares sends the link to the man’s tool.

Charles doesn’t look at his omni-tool when it lights up, letting out an unusual chime Ares hasn’t heard from anyone else’s omni-tool before. “You really don’t need to do that, I’m alright. I get paid in a couple of days, I’ll survive.”

Closing his tool to free a hand, Ares leans down a bit and takes Charles’ chin, narrowing his eyes. “Then do it because I said so.”

Charles huffs, a grin spreading over his lips. “Kiss me first.”

Ares flicks a mandible, confused at first by the request when it’s obvious the two of them aren’t in any position to fuck right now. It takes only a split second, though, before he remembers that—right—species with lips do that at many different times. Bending a knee to lower himself, he presses his mouth plates to Charles’ lips, not sure what else to do.

Charles responds, puckering his lips against Ares’ mouth, gently tugging at his upper plates before releasing him again. Bringing a hand up to brush his thumb along Ares’ mandible, he whispers, “Okay.”

Rumbling in victory, Ares leans up before his back can really begin to protest at the position. He grins at Charles and nods once. “Good. There’s no limit, so get shit you’ll actually _want_ to eat.”

“Are you trying to turn me into a kept man?” Charles grins, taking another drag of his strange, foul smelling cigarette and leans back in against Ares’ side.

“I don’t know what that means,” Ares says before flicking off the ash of his cigarette and bringing it back to his mouth to take a drag.

Charles chuckles, shaking his head a little. “Nevermind.”

Ares grunts at the shit answer and exhales, looking back over the Citadel. “I won’t be gone long.”

His whole body seeming to perk up a little, Charles looks back up, surprise lifting his eyebrows. “Yeah?” Charles smiles when Ares merely nods. “Good.”

Ares huffs an amused snort before letting the two of them fall into silence, the only sound the Citadel’s ambience and their near silent exhales of smoke. Charles finishes his weird cigarette moments before Ares, but the man waits until he is done and ready to head inside. Ares turns to the kitchen, making his way to the fridge to grab a water bottle.

“Do you want anything?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder to see Charles’ attention on his omni-tool. Actually doing what Ares told him to do, no doubt.

Glancing up, Charles takes a second to look at the bottle of water in Ares’ hand before turning down the corners of his mouth and shaking his head. “I’m good.”

Ares shrugs and closes the fridge, returning to the couch to sit down. He’s still waiting on some information from his contact, so he doesn’t really have anything to do until he has a destination for his upcoming hunts. Twisting off the cap, he swallows down a large amount of water. He lowers his bottle when Charles closes his tool and lifts a brow plate at how fast that was, but what does he know about human food? Not a damn thing, that’s what. “When do you work?”  

Charles yawns, stretching out enough to put his feet up on the table, leaning his back against the arm of the couch. “Ten to eight.”

“I mean days,” Ares says, snorting before drinking more of his water.

“Oh.” Charles shoves a hand under his head. “Uh … I’m on for the next two days, off for two, and then after that I’m not sure. I can find out today.”

Ares nods once, rumbling as he motions his left arm where his omni-tool is set. “Send me a message when you find out. My task shouldn’t take too long once my contact calls me with what I need to know.”

Charles nods. “Sure. How long do you think it’ll take? Couple of days … couple of weeks?”

“I don’t know.” Ares hums, trying to calculate at least some kind of estimate. “Depending on where they are, I can get it done in a matter of days. If not, it might take a week or so.”

“If you let me know when you’re headed back, I can ask for the day off …” Charles says, uncertainty in his voice, “... if you want.”

Ares looks at Charles and flicks a smirk. “When I get reception, I’ll give you a better timeframe of when I’ll be back.”

Charles smiles, all teeth. Reaching down to his thigh, he scratches absently at his leg, moving from one spot over to another a couple of centimeters away. When Ares’ gaze flicks down to Charles’ hand, he stops scratching, pulling his hand back up to rest on his stomach. Clearing his throat, he shrugs, his voice barely above a whisper when he says, “Sometimes the cuts itch while they’re healing.”

A thought of the torture of his own burns healing, leaving him with year long itches, comes to mind, and Ares bites back his growl over even finding Charles doing it. He can understand Charles having done it for a reason but not to the point that it’s a nuisance afterwards. Where Ares fucks or fights out his rage over the past, Charles slices open his own skin, letting blood flow freely in some sort of self-healing.  

That kind of healing has proven to be shit.

“Charles,” Ares says to get the man’s attention and hums when Charles returns his gaze. “Let me tell you about the job I’m taking.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up, head pulling back in shock. He shifts, pushing up on his elbows to pull himself upright. “Seriously?” Scooting a little closer when Ares nods, he tucks one leg under himself, sitting sideways on the couch. “Alright.”

“This job won’t be paying … at least not in credits,” Ares says, finishing off the water and tossing the empty bottle onto the table to clean up later. “These will be personal kills, but not for me. At least not directly.” He looks to Charles, eyes searching his face as Ares rumbles softly, encouragingly, and wonders if this will be a good idea. Most people shy away from killing someone, even if the target wronged them in some way. “This will be for you.”

Charles’ face stills, hope seeming to war with doubt and confusion in his eyes. “How’s that?”

“I have a contact, one who can track people through their extranet access, credit accounts, medical records. Pretty much anything. I’ve hired her to search for the men you spoke about last night.” Ares tilts his head, thrumming at the certainty that he’ll get his kills. His mandibles flutter in confusion and worry that he did something wrong when he sees Charles’ eyes begin to glisten once more, tears sliding down his cheeks, but he doesn’t move. “If you want … you can join me,” Ares adds.

Charles seems to stop breathing for a moment, blinking his eyes. After a few seconds—just long enough for Ares to clench his fists, the awkwardness of upsetting Charles last night returning—Charles flings himself at Ares, wrapping his arms around Ares neck, face burying into his cowl. Ares blinks in surprise, mandibles fluttering, but his mind quickly reminds him of this gesture, of how it works, and he lifts his hands, laying them on Charles’ back without knowing what to do next. Charles doesn’t seem to care about Ares’ distinct lack of intimate gestures as his body trembles in Ares’ arms, breath coming out in intermediate gasps. A coldness touches the scars beneath Charles’ face, and Ares thrums in curiosity at the feeling of tears on his hide. He always thought they’d feel warm but the chill is a refreshing surprise.

After a few moments, Charles’ breathing seems to slow, coming in more even breaths, and he pulls away, wiping at his face. “Sorry,” he says, his voice croaking. He sits back again, taking one last, deep, shuddering breath and nods. “Yes. Please. Take me with you.”

Rumbling, Ares gives the man a curt nod. “You will need unassuming clothing. Nothing that stands out in a crowd.”

Charles gives Ares an odd look, and then purses his lips. “I should probably warn you that if you’re doing this, it means going to Shanxi. Turians aren’t exactly welcomed with open arms there.”

Ares snorts. “I’m not really welcome anywhere.” He shrugs and stands up. “It’ll be like just another job,” he says, turning to throw a smirk to Charles. “I’ll just have company.”

Charles huffs. “Not for me it won’t be.” Digging in the pocket of his pants, he pulls out his cigarettes and lighter, leaning over to grab the ashtray off the coffee table and sets it on his knee. Tapping the pack against his hand, he shakes one loose, pulling it out the rest of the way with trembling fingers. He glances up at Ares as he lights the cigarette, sucking in a deep drag before he asks, “We’ll be leaving today?”

“Yes. I doubt it’ll take longer than a few hours for my contact to get the information I need.”  Crossing his arms across his chest, Ares rumbles in question. “How do you want to do it?”

“Do it? What? Kill them? Shit, aren’t you the expert?” Charles chuckles, nerves evident in his voice and movements.

“I won’t take someone’s chance for revenge away from them. If you want me to do it, then fine, but you deserve to make that decision, not me.” Ares shrugs. “And I need to know the way you plan it so I can adjust, see if I can find you a weapon if you choose to use one.”

Charles lowers his gaze, taking another drag from his cigarette before tapping it against the ashtray. He lets out a sharp, humorless bark of laughter. “I must’ve thought about killing them millions of times …” He shakes his head, taking another drag before meeting Ares’ gaze again. “... but I don’t know the first thing about killing someone without getting myself killed in the process. I tried … I tried, to help Sarah, but ….”

Ares hums in understanding. “Wait here,” he says before walking to the bedroom to search through his equipment. Finally finding what he’s looking for, he unholsters the lightest—though possibly still too heavy—pistol he owns and returns to the living room. “Can you fire a gun?”

Charles shrugs, eyeing the weapon in Ares’ hand. “Not and do anything more than scare someone, unless I get lucky.”

Grunting in slight disapproval—but quickly tamping it down when he remembers that humans don’t have mandatory weapons training—Ares spins the gun in his hand, offering the grip to Charles. “Test its weight.”

Hesitantly, Charles shifts his cigarette to his other hand and accepts the pistol from Ares. “Heavier than I thought … but it’s not uncomfortable, I guess.”

“You’ll just need to point and pull the trigger, and I’ll get you close enough that it won’t matter whether or not you can sight down the barrel.” Ares takes the pistol when Charles hands it back. “If you can’t decide a method before we need it, then you can always use my gun.”

Charles hums, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Sounds easier than they deserve.” He glances off to the side, eyes glazing over for a second before he seems to pull himself back from the darkness creeping over his eyes. Shaking his head, he sucks in a deep breath. “You’re … you’re really serious about this, right?”

“I don’t joke about these kinds of things. If you want them dead, then you can kill them, and I’ll watch your back, take care of keeping it hidden and off the records.” Ares turns to head back to the bedroom to return his pistol, stopping beside the couch to glance at Charles. “And I merely offered the gun in case you can’t decide. I’ll back whatever you choose to do so long as you get what you want, not turn back when you’re close.”

“I won’t turn back,” Charles says, resolve strong in his eyes before something else flickers there for just a second. “I want,” he starts again but pauses, as if unsure he wants to voice whatever is going on in his head, “I want to make them hurt.”

Ares rumbles in agreement. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” Before he can see Charles’ reaction—if any—Ares’ omni-tool begins to chime softly, and he knows exactly who it is. “That’s my contact. Get ready to leave,” he says before opening his tool to accept the call from his contact.  

“You hire me and can’t even say ‘hello?’” The contact’s voice is the only thing feminine about her—Ares already having seen the brutish human in person before—as she speaks. “I have what you asked for. What is it worth to you?”

Ares snorts, going silent for a moment as he picks up on Charles speaking, perhaps to his own omni-tool. The man tells some ‘Irene’ that he won’t show for work, having ‘some shit to take care of’. Ares just has enough time to hear Charles wave off whatever threat she made to his job before the woman on Ares’ own comm clears her throat.

“I’m waiting….”

Grumbling at her impatience and mock concern of her payment when he pays her every damn time, Ares looks down at her shadowed form. “I already know they’re on Shanxi. So I’m not paying for that.”

“From who?”

“From the fucking Spirits. What does it matter?” Ares growls and glances up to see Charles step into the door, but he quickly turns and exits just as fast. “Just give me the rest of the information, and I’ll pay your normal prices.”

His contact sighs heavily, and Ares scowls at her exaggerated disappointment. “Fine. I’ll accept the usual. Send it over before you get the info.”

“Send over half the info and you’ll get half first, then the rest after you send the last of my information.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” Ares says, the woman not worthy of knowing to who or when he offers pieces of his trust. “Now send it.” His tool pings, the far corner of the interface showing the information syncing to its system. When it completes, he sends over half of what he normally pays. “The rest,” he demands, and the woman visibly tilts her head to look at her ceiling.

“God, you are so rude.” She reaches over her keyboard and types, the same link activating on Ares’ tool before he finally transfers the last of the money. “Finally. You’re so difficult to work with. So particular.”

“Because I should just trust a data miner specializing in hacking into private and confidential information?” Ares snorts. “I’ll do that when people begin to make my job easier by keeling over by themselves.” Before she can speak, he closes the call and moves back to the living room to go over what his contact found for him.

* * *

 

Charles leaves Ares to talk in private, he’ll start packing when Ares is done. Instead, he wanders the apartment aimlessly for a moment, thoughts racing in about a trillion different directions. He finds himself in the bathroom, the small, beaten metal tin in his hand. He swallows, popping open the lid. Staring at the straight razor nestled down sideways into the tin, he sucks in a shallow breath before letting his gaze shift to the only other thing he keeps in that little box, hidden away beneath his bathroom sink. Sarah’s hair, a lock his mother kept for years, from her first haircut.

The night he ran away from home, his mother stopped him out in the yard. He thought for sure she’d make him stay, call the police, hell, call his father. But she didn’t. She pushed a bag into his hand, kissed him on his forehead with tears streaming down her face, and told him goodbye. His dad was just as much of an abusive ass to her as he was to Charles, but she’d never leave. He’d probably end up killing her one of these days, but she’d stick with the sonofabitch until the bitter end. They all knew it.

He runs his finger over the baby-soft hair, already anticipating the things he wants to do to the men who robbed her of her innocence before stealing her life, too. Jesus Christ, she was only fourteen. His throat tightens, and he feels tears threatening to start again, so he turns his attention back to the razor, lifting it out of the tin. Setting the tin down on the counter, he holds the razor chest-level, turning it over in his fingers before flicking it open.

“You should use that to do it.” Ares voice tears Charles away from his musings, the exact thought already entering his mind and taking root.

Charles looks up, meeting Ares’ gaze in the mirror. His own eyes look … different. He isn’t quite sure how, or why, but some distant part of his mind delights in what he sees there. Nodding, he closes the razor, nestling it back into the tin next to Sarah’s hair and snaps it closed. Picking up the container, he glances over his shoulder at Ares who is leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “You read my mind.”

Seeming satisfied, Ares leaves, moving toward the bedroom. Charles follows after him, still holding the tin. He stops in the bedroom doorway, looking around the room, but everything seems slightly off to him, as if none of it is really his, suddenly unfamiliar. He turns his attention to Ares, the only thing that seems _right_ in the room. He watches as Ares starts strapping weapons onto his naked body—a gun against his stomach, a knife on his right forearm, and the galaxy’s smallest gun on the left—and a quiet, comfortable calm settles over Charles. Something he’s never really felt before, at least not that he recalls.

Moving past Ares, he sets the tin on the nightstand, carefully, as if it might explode, and he supposes some part of him thinks it might. It isn’t something that ever exists outside of the dark place he goes to when he stops feeling and needs to bleed to feel alive again, needs to hurt just to feel anything. Swallowing, he runs his fingers over the fading print, an image of one ship or another flying through space, Alliance markings along the body. It was his father’s once, too. From his days before the First Contact War. Why the fuck Charles kept it, he doesn’t know. He just saw it sitting there on his father’s dresser when he went rummaging through the old man’s shit to see what he could take with him before he left and decided to pocket the tin.

Turning his attention toward his dresser, Charles first goes to the closet and digs out an old, canvas backpack. Tossing it on the bed, he makes his way to his dresser and starts pulling open drawers, digging through his clothes. He doesn’t really own much that _doesn’t_ fit Ares’ description of what he should wear, but he has a few things he doesn’t really mind tossing out if they get drenched in blood. Gathering up a few, threadbare t-shirts, a hoodie, a pair of jeans, and two pairs of sweats, he carries them over to the bed and starts shoving them into the backpack.

Glancing up, he sees Ares is dressed and has moved to Charles’ closet, using the mirror on the backside of the door to apply his fake plates. Realizing he’s actually going to have to _fold_ the clothes if he wants them to fit, Charles pulls them back out and starts over again, leaving the hoodie and a change of clothes out to wear. “Your contact found them?”

Ares throws what looks like a wet piece of fabric over to land on his jacket still on the floor.  “Yes. You can look over it, if you want.” He turns his attention back to his reflection, pulling a small jar and flat brush out of his pocket. Opening the jar, it looks to Charles like Ares starts to paint over his scars, but there’s no color to the substance so Charles figures it must be adhesive. “We’ll have plenty of time traveling to Shanxi for it.”

Charles nods. “Yeah.” He turns his attention back to folding clothes and stacking them inside the bag. “What else do I need to bring?” He actually isn’t entirely sure he wants to look over the information Ares has for the men. He’ll know them when he sees then, that’s all he really needs.

“Food for the trip,” Ares says, and when Charles glances back up, he sees Ares pressing a fake plate to his mandible, holding it a few seconds. When he takes his hand away again, the plate stays in place, and he turns enough to look at Charles. “And we won’t be eating anywhere on Shanxi, so pack for that too.”

Charles considers that for a moment, noting the irony of the fact Ares just made him buy a week’s worth of food he isn’t going to be around to eat. He nods absently, pulling out a couple of shirts and tosses them back toward the dresser, giving him a little more room in the bag to work with. Leaving the bedroom, he makes his way into the kitchen and starts opening cabinets. He really doesn’t have much, and little of what he does have will carry over well for travel. Scraping his teeth over his lip, he opens another cabinet and digs out a box of sandwich bags. Things might get smashed, but it’ll save space. Trying to remember what exactly he ordered from the grocery delivery site, he pulls down a box of cereal, dumping some into a sandwich bag—he usually eats the shit dry anyway.

After filling a few bags with dry, easy to eat odds and ends, he carries them back to the room and puts them in the backpack. It won’t hold him over for very long, but it won’t be the first time in his life he’s gone days without eating when he needed to. He’ll add to it a little when the delivery arrives, maybe even drag out his other pack, but he doesn’t want to weigh himself down, either. Ares will want him to keep up, and with as tall as the turian is, Charles will have a difficult enough time with the task.

Glancing at Ares again, he finds Ares has already painted fresh, deep red colony markings over the fake plates, extending them out in an eased, practiced pattern over the other side of his face. If Charles didn’t know what the plates hid, he might not even realize they were there. Hell, the night they met, he didn’t have a clue until Ares took them off. When Ares looks over at Charles, he notices the turian also has in one of his colored contacts, covering the milky white eye. Charles doesn’t like it, he’ll never tell Ares so, but he doesn’t like it because it isn’t the face he’s grown to … whatever.

Tearing his gaze away, he walks back to the night stand, picking up the tin and carrying it back to the foot of the bed. He slips it inside the outer pocket of the backpack and zips it closed. He supposes he should at least bring some toothpaste and deodorant, too, or within two days, Ares won’t be able to put enough distance between the two of them.

Back in the bathroom, the room starts to spin a little, and he feels like he has to sit down. Closing the lid on the toilet, he drops down, his whole body trembling, and he puts his head in his hands, elbows digging into his knees. Holy shit. This is real. He is seriously packing to go on a trip—with an assassin who he’s developed some sort of relationship with—back to the one place in the fucking galaxy he swore he’d never return to … so he can kill the men who fucked up his entire life. He squeezes his eyes closed, forcing himself to take in slow, steady breaths while he digs his fingertips into his scalp. Why is Ares even doing this? He doesn’t owe Charles anything, it isn’t his problem, and Charles sure as hell can’t afford to pay him for any of it. What if Ares is right, and when the time comes, he can’t even do it?

 _“Don’t be a fucking pussy,”_ his dad’s voice fills his head.

Charles snarls, his words tearing out of him far louder than he intends. “Shut the fuck up.”

He didn’t hear Ares approach, so it startles him when Ares’ warm, gloved hand settles on top of his head. Charles doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t know what to even say just now, but he glances up, meeting the turian’s gaze. The expression he finds on Ares’ face is odd, unlike anything Charles has ever seen from him before. Ares doesn’t say anything either, but a moment later, a soft rumble fills the air around him, the sound comforting to Charles.

He takes a deep breath, scrubbing his palms over his face. “His voice is just always there. Digging into my head like broken shards of glass.” Sighing, he meets Ares’ gaze again. “Don’t worry, I’ll pull it together. I’m still just trying to wrap my head around it, is all.”

Nodding, Ares removes his hand and lowers it to his side. “I know. It gets easier when you finally have them before you.”

“Does it … does it get easier once they’re dead?” Charles asks, searching Ares’ gaze.

“Yes,” Ares says, flicking his mandibles, “but it never goes away.”

Shoulders dropping, Charles looks at the bathroom floor and nods his head—it’s not what he wants to hear, but he’s glad Ares is telling him the truth. “Guess that would just be too easy, huh?”

“Who else do you hear?” Ares’ voice holds a tone of genuine curiosity.

Charles shakes his head a little. “Mostly just my dad’s … but sometimes Sarah’s. Begging me to help her. Her screams. Their voices. Mocking her pleas, calling her names.” He scoffs. “But it’s my dad’s that just never seems to shut up, always there to remind me how pathetic I am, one way or another.”

A low hum comes from Ares, and he shifts his feet. “My family is in my head. Accusing me of abandoning them, betraying them, betraying my people. I hear it from people I don’t know, meeting someone and hearing their voice later where it’s only me and the darkness.”

Charles pushes himself to his feet, leaving little space between himself and Ares before leaning forward, resting his head against the turian’s chest. “That’s a part of why I look forward to you showing up so much, I think. It quiets things a little, having you here.”

Ares’ thrum vibrates against Charles’ face where he touches the turian, and Ares lays a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps it will quiet for you once we’re done. You don’t have to have my own problems, you could be different.”

“I wish it was different for you.” Charles slides his arms around Ares’ waist.

“I made my mistakes, and I pay the price.” Ares shifts his hand to the top of Charles’ head, talons teasing his scalp as the turian ghosts them through his short hair. “I trusted the wrong people and learned that blind trust leads to death.”

Charles hums, enjoying the sensations stirred by Ares’ fingers, even as it makes his neck and shoulders break out in goosebumps. After a moment, he takes a deep breath and lifts his head to look at Ares. “I don’t really understand why you’re doing this … but thank you.”

Ares flicks a mandible in a half smile. “Everyone deserves to right the wrongs done to them. And I want you to be able to.”

Charles smirks, lifting up on his toes to press a quick kiss to Ares’ mouth. “You sound like some comic book superhero.”

Ares just looks down at him before, in a bewildered tone, saying, “I don’t know what that means.”

Charles chuckles, backing out of Ares’ arms, but takes him by the hand, leading him back to the bedroom closet. Reaching up onto the top shelf, Charles feels around until his hand hits the plastic covering of one of his old comics, and he tugs it down off the shelf. Glancing at the cover he sees it’s a Batman comic and smirks, thinking it fitting enough, and hands it to Ares. After all, Ares doesn’t have superpowers any more than Batman, and they’re both broody as all hell. Grinning at the confused look on the turian’s face, Charles moves back to the bed to finish packing.

“There are human hybrids?” Ares asks as he quirks a brow plate and tilts his head, looking down at the comic in his hands. “Hybridization is against Council law….”

“What?” Charles snorts, shaking his head in dismay. “No. It’s not … he’s not a hybrid. It’s a persona he took on, a disguise he wears. He’s a make-believe vigilante, has a secret layer, cleans up the messes the police are too stupid to handle the right way ….”

“So he pretends to be a hybrid between man and ‘bat’ to instill his own law?” Ares lifts the comic to get a better look but raises a brow plate in Charles’ direction. “How do I sound like anything this character would have to say?”

Charles laughs, turning to sit down on the bed. “No, he’s not _pretending_ to be a hybrid either. It’s … apparently not easy to explain.” He shakes his head. “Maybe not Batman in particular. Honestly, you’re probably the type Batman would hunt down … it’s just sort of a concept common to superheros, the whole idea of righting wrongs, defending the helpless …. You should take it with us, read it on the trip. There’s a few more up there, too. Since you’re so stuck on hybrids, you might like X-Men or Spiderman.”

“You act like it’s odd I find a human called _Bat_ man someone who could be a hybrid. And now you bring up a man-spider. Humans are strange…” Ares puts the comic on the bed as he goes to the closet and easily grabs the rest of them from the top shelf. “Why does it seem you’re so interested in mixing humans with animals?”

Charles knows the grin on his face has to look as stupid as it feels, but he doesn’t care. “I didn’t write them.” He stands again, moving back over to Ares to shuffle through the comics in his hand, pulling out a volume of Spiderman and putting it back on the stack up top. “He was bit by a radioactive spider, and it gave him superpowers,” Charles says, his gaze darts up long enough to make sure Ares is listening. “Yeah, I know, it’s bullshit, it doesn’t work like that … but when you’re a kid with a crappy life, you take your escapism where you can find it.” He shrugs. “Anyway, he can do shit like stick to walls. It’s fantasy, meant to be entertaining.”

Ares stares at the comics before flicking his gaze to Charles. “Okay. I’ll read them and _then_ decide on them.” He moves to the bed, picks up the Batman comic, and carries them with him as he leaves the bedroom, heading to the kitchen.

“Seriously?” Charles follows him out, stopping in the doorway where he can still see Ares. “You’ll read them?”

“The transport is going to be fucking boring … so why not?” Ares sets the comics on the counter and starts to dig through the cabinet containing his food.

“Um … because I was made fun of all the way through middle and high school for having my nose stuck in one of those every chance I got.” Charles lifts an eyebrow even though Ares isn’t looking at him. “They’re ‘not cool.’”

Ares tucks a few cans of the gross-looking, processed meat he eats all the time into an inside pocket of his jacket. “Humans are strange ….”

“You say that a lot, but here you are ….” Charles pushes away from the door frame when the door buzzer sounds.

Ares swings his head towards the door, reaching for the holster at his hip.

“It’s probably just the groceries you had me order.” Charles makes his way to the door, activating the security feed, but before he can even think about opening the door, Ares steps in front of him, putting himself between the door and Charles. Grinning at the turian’s back, Charles moves away, letting him do his thing. Charles has never really had anyone act even a little protective over him, so he isn’t going to say anything to discourage it, he kinda likes it.

After a moment of watching whoever it is at the door on the screen, Ares steps back. Keeping his hand near his holster, he opens the door. “You’re late,” he says to the salarian delivery man, a slight, agitated thrum to his voice as he scowls. “I paid for you to hurry your asses.”

Charles suppresses a laugh, backing further away from the door and the frightened looking salarian.

The salarian eyes Ares as if he thinks the giant turian might decide to eat him for his indiscretions. “Ah, yes, well, there seemed to be some issues with the method of payment. The name on the account didn’t match the name of the person who lives at this address ….”

“What I hear is that your company doesn’t cover for the fact that someone is visiting another, or that the account holder could be buying for another party.” Ares turns to give the salarian room and jerks his head towards the kitchen. “Just bring it in.”

The salarian backs away from the door, returning a moment later with a cart laden with bags and wheels it inside. “Of course, sir. It’s Citadel Natural Grocers and Delivery’s policy to first check that the account owner hasn’t reported any sort of identity theft or suspicious account activity before finalizing the purchase. I don’t make the rules, I just make the deliveries.”

Ares just grumbles as he follows the salarian into the kitchen, stopping at the breakfast bar and looking to Charles. “Want to make sure it’s all there?”

Charles doesn’t really think it’s necessary, but if it’ll keep the turian from snapping off the salarian’s head, he’ll riffle through the bags. He follows the salarian into the kitchen, keeping his head down as much to avoid the salarian’s gaze as to hide his smirk. Poor guy is probably going to go back to work and have Charles added to the ‘do not deliver’ list. Poking around inside the bags as he moves them to the counters, he shrugs a little. He can’t exactly remember what all he ordered, that was twelve lifetimes ago with everything that’s happened since then. “Looks right to me,” he says, looking up at Ares.

Ares nods once before turning to the salarian delivery man, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a credit chit. “Go back and report this delivery as normal as any other,” he says as he tosses the chit to the salarian.

The salarian catches the credit chit, his eyes growing a little wider as he looks at it and nods, stuffing it into his pocket. “Of course,” he says, bowing his head a little to Ares before doing the same to Charles. “Have a pleasant day.” Grabbing his cart, once the bags are all removed, he backs out of the apartment, smile on his face but something entirely different in his eyes.

As soon as the door closes, Charles laughs. “Did you really need to scare the shit out of the poor guy?”

Ares flicks his mandibles, turning his attention away from the door. “He was late.”

“Wasn’t his fault.” Charles leans against the counter. “Ever hear the saying, ‘don’t shoot the messenger?’”

“I wasn’t going to shoot him,” Ares says with a grumble.

Charles just laughs, shaking his head as he starts emptying the bags, putting things away, and deciding what to take with him.


	4. Roger Fairclough

Ares can tell that Charles didn’t really expect to travel to Shanxi in a small alcove in a vessel hauling goods from the Citadel to the human colony. He’s sure the man had the idea that they’d be on an actual transport ship, but that would’ve left a paper trail, so to speak, even if they used false identities. Ares never liked that possibility, often choosing the best vessels he could find with inconspicuous cargo and a captain willing to accept money to alter their manifests to account for the extra weight without suspicion. Credits often keeps them silent, and when it doesn’t, Ares uses some good intimidation to make it seem much smarter to keep quiet.  

Luckily, he didn’t have to go that far on this trip with Charles at his side. Not that the man would notice past his obvious distraction. Ares has been so used to Charles’ chatter before that the silence seems more obvious now, the only sounds the hum of the ship’s propulsion systems and the creaks of the cargo, their locking mechanisms obviously having enough slack that any sudden movements won’t snap the binds. The thought does give Ares some reassurance that, should something bad happen, he and Charles won’t be crushed by pointless cargo. He’d much rather not be killed by, as the labels state, crates of clothing, cosmetics, and other stupid souvenirs. The irony of that actually happening doesn’t amuse Ares all that much and, with Charles in his state, he knows his company wouldn’t even hear him if he actually tests his—probably horrible—humor with the man.

Exhaling heavily, Ares stretches his legs out from where he sits and leans his head against the cold metal wall. He has already read every last ‘comic’ Charles insisted would be interesting and is only left with more questions than answers. He’ll admit he wasn’t all that interested in his own people’s forms of entertainment as a child, but he’s pretty damn sure that turians at least didn’t make things for kids that would only confuse and baffle them. Ares is an adult, and yet, he can’t even manage to make sense of anything in the comics, often left to wonder just how insane the writers of the things were. He doubts the fault is his own—who even  _ thinks  _ of a man sticking to walls like a pest? Any questions he directed to Charles didn’t get much of an answer, so he finished reading in silence, only to set them down in a neat pile, far away from himself, when he was done.

Ares closes his eyes, resting for just a moment after staying alert the entire trip with the bare minimum of sleep to function. He made sure to keep awake while Charles slept—for the eternity he did—to keep an eye on the crew of the vessel. The man still hasn’t slept much, compared to his usual, and Ares knows it isn’t the tight quarters they have. Charles has plenty of room to lay out when he sets his head in Ares’ lap, but Ares knows the anxiety has kept the man from getting his normal amount of sleep. At some times, Ares insisted the idiot sleep, reminding Charles that he’ll lose focus, fuck up, and regret it all because he won’t rest. Ares isn’t sure how much sleep humans need exactly—or if it even compares to the Hierarchy’s mandatory xenostudies—to function, but he’d rather force Charles to get more sleep than he needs than watch the man falter in his search for revenge.

Eyes still shut, Ares begins to hear the subtle shift in the ship’s mechanical thrum. Opening his eyes, he looks around the cargo hold for any signs of the reason. He glances Charles’ way, but figures the man doesn’t hear the shift by his continued withdrawn look. Ares leaves the man to his thoughts as he climbs to his feet and rolls his shoulders to ease the ache there. He glances down to Charles and hums. “I’m going to see if we’re landing. Apparently, the crew down here in the hold aren’t alerted to any shift in the ship’s movements.”

A wild looking spark of panic fills Charles’ eyes for the briefest of moments before the man’s lips press tight, and he seems to stamp it down. He pulls his bag a little closer to himself and brings his knees up to his chest, nodding to Ares.

Ares leaves Charles in their alcove, walking down the small path that cuts between two large stacks of cargo and absently flicks the straps holding it to test the tautness. He turns around the corner of the stacks and sees a human worker down the new path, the sight of the cargo doors directly behind him. Odds are the man doesn’t know shit, but Ares will have to go through him to get to the bridge, so he figures he might as well ask. “Are we docking on Shanxi yet? Is that what I hear?”  

The man looks up at him with wide eyes, apparently uninformed of Ares and Charles’ presence on the ship. That, or he does know and is just too deaf or unaware of what goes on around him to hear Ares’ approach. After a moment of staring up at Ares, the man visibly swallows and shakes his head, brows furrowing. “What do you mean ‘hear’? I don’t hear anything….”

“That’s because you’re deaf compared to a turian,” Ares says, walking towards the man in a way that it’s obvious he wants by. The fool doesn’t understand and merely backs up a step, eyes wary. “Move. If you don’t know anything, I want to talk to someone who does. And you’re in my way.” When the man looks around, for whatever idiotic reason, Ares drops his hand on the human’s shoulder and physically pushes him towards the wall. “That usually means get out of the way, human.”

Ares watches a scowl flicker over the man’s face, but he doesn’t stay long enough to let the man speak. He hears an ‘asshole’ shouted at his back, but sticking around to get into a pissing contest with the human just isn’t worth Ares being unprepared for their arrival on Shanxi.  Hitting the command to open the cargo bay doors, Ares takes a step into the long hall dividing bridge from the rest of the ship and watches the captain as he stands at the navigation console and directs his pilots with hand gestures. Ares assumes the voice he hears the captain talking to is the communication from Shanxi’s Air Traffic Control.

“Understood, ma’am,” the captain says, glancing over his shoulder when he obviously hears Ares’ intentional footsteps and quickly turns around to add, “I’d appreciate it if we can speed along the docking procedure.” He huffs a strained laugh. “I’m a bit late on my schedule, and my boss would kill me if I’m late to my next delivery. Anything you can do for me?”

There is a long silence, and Ares crosses his arms, seeing the captain glance his way in his peripherals.  

Finally, the woman across the comms speaks, “Alright, sir. But only because we don’t have anyone else requesting dock right now ahead you. I’m transferring the access confirmation for the  _ SSV Atlanta _ to you right now.” She pauses, and in a moment, the captain’s console flashes with incoming data.

The captain seems to visibly relax as he opens the confirmation and quietly—but still audible to Ares’ ears—exhales. “Thank you, ma’am. You’re doing me a huge favor.”

“Dock with number twenty-three on wing bravo. And you can thank me only if you’re the one bringing in some of the latest fashion from Thessia.”

Ares rolls his eyes—a human gesture he’s made sure to learn—at the woman’s energetic and hopeful tone. Why anyone would want asari ‘fashion’ is beyond him. What is the purpose of wearing clothes with zero functionality and rife with so many features to entice species and flaunt their bodies? It isn’t like they don’t already make a living flirting with every person that has a pulse. Humans, despite his ability to find so many of the species lacking in intelligence, are more tolerable than the asari and their goal to fuck anything in the galaxy just to pop out more of the same thing: asari. A species that lives as long as they do can’t pass to Ares as being trustworthy, especially with the way they attempt to ‘keep control’. At least with krogan, Ares can read their intentions, but asari are notorious for abusing power and their knack for manipulation.

Ares glances to the captain when the man chuckles and answers, “Why, yes, ma’am. We are  _ that  _ ship.” Ares swears the woman makes a feminine, high-pitched noise, but the comm is cut before the sound can really pierce his ears too deeply.  

Turning to the captain, Ares motions to the cockpit and the pilots. “When will we arrive and actually be able to get off this ship?”

The captain lets out another weak huff before trying to smile at Ares. “So ready to leave us?”

Ares knows the question is obligatory to a man trying to keep the peace, as if not being passive would get him and all his men killed. He ignores the attempt at levity and turns to return to the cargo bay. “We’ll be off the ship as soon as the cargo doors are open.”  

Activating the console for the cargo hold doors, Ares finds that at least the idiotic human no longer stands where he would be in Ares’ way again. He has no idea where the nuisance went, but as he draws closer to the alcove he and Charles have been using for the transport, he hears not only Charles’ voice, but that same bastard Ares thought he wouldn’t have to put up with again.

“If he’s hurting you—”

“He’s not,” Charles says, starting to sound agitated as Ares rounds the corner to the path that’ll run right back to the alcove and saw the same fucking man from before.

“Are you sure, because it looks like—”

“He’s  _ not _ hurting me. He’s my … he’s just  _ mine _ .” Charles snarls, pulling his bag a little closer to him, his hand moving towards the pocket he’d stuffed the tin holding his razor into. “Okay? So fuck off.”

“I can see a turian’s bitten you.”

Ares steps directly behind the man after shifting his footsteps so that he walks silently. Charles visibly relaxes—and even struggles to fight back that smirk Ares is used to. Growling, Ares sees the man jump, then tense as his shoulders hunch to the sides of his head, as if to defend his neck.  

“You’re right,” Ares says, leaning closer to the man’s ear and lets his anger radiate through his vocals. “And you’re still in my way. You’re not very smart, either. When a man tells you to fuck off, it’s best you do before I show up.” Smirking, Ares grips the man’s shoulder, digging in his talons and watching the man wince, still frozen in fear. “For bothering my human, how about I teach you why you should’ve made yourself disappear instead of digging your grave coming here.”

“I-”

Ares snarls to shut him up and uses his grip to lift the man up, turning around to throw the human at the cargo crates. He hears the thump of contact and a snap, probably the sound of something breaking if the weak whimper and gasp of pain is any indication. Ares lets the man scramble to his feet and give one wide eyed look—the eyes of wounded prey—to Ares and Charles before sprinting away as fast as he can. Ares catches Charles’ smartass wave from his peripheral and smirks at the sight of the annoying human running for his life. Had Ares been in a worse mood, that run probably wouldn’t have saved him.

Looking down to Charles, Ares tilts his head and flicks his mandibles. “Ready to go?”

Charles’ smirk fades. “We’re there?” He sucks in a deep breath when Ares nods, then pulls himself to his feet, sliding his hooded jacket on over his head and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Stooping down, he scoops up the comic books and stuffs them into his backpack before pulling his hood up. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Satisfied with the answer, Ares nods and motions for Charles to follow as he leads the way down the paths between crates towards the large cargo bay doors. He looks to Charles as the man steps to his side and Ares asks, “Do you want to stay at an actual place, or do you want to do what I’d do alone?”

“I don’t really want to be seen here.” Charles tugs absently at his hood, glancing up at Ares. “There’s still people around who’d recognize me … and aside from that causing us problems, I really just don’t want to deal with any of them.”

“That means we’ll be moving constantly, sleeping in places much like we did on this ship.” Ares isn’t so much questioning Charles’ decision as informing him of the reality of how Ares lives on jobs, not wanting the man to develop expectations.

“I can handle it,” Charles says, offering Ares a weak, unconvincing smile.

Ares chooses not to carry the conversation forward, knowing it’ll go nowhere with both their minds already made up, but rumbles in wordless thanks for Charles not unintentionally forcing him to change his usual routine while on jobs. If anything, getting a place would only make it feel like the two of them were trapped should anything go wrong. Instead, he puts his hand on Charles’ shoulder and squeezes, giving a dip of his chin in understanding.

Before either can do much more that accept the decision, Ares hears the hydraulics of the cargo bay hatch sputtering, hissing as the heavy door begins to lower. Watching it lower and groaning at the loud screech of metal rubbing metal, he reminds himself not to hire this ship again until they manage to repair the damn ramp to stop it from catching against whatever else was in the way. When the sound finally cuts off into a heavy slam of the ramp hitting the dense concrete and metal of the docks, Ares looks down to Charles to gauge if the man is ready to return to his birth place.

Ares steps down the slight lip and onto the ramp of the  _ Atlanta _ , opening his tool as he checks Shanxi’s time. It’s late afternoon and a perfect time to begin to set up their first hunt. He has an idea that Charles won’t feel the same killing this target as the ones who defiled and murdered his sister, so Ares has already thought about how the hunt for the target will begin. He doubts anyone but him would notice the subtle shift in Charles’ movements as he starts walking lighter, making less noise. 

Closing his tool just as they reach the bottom of the ramp and step onto the solid ground of the colony docks, Ares stops and scans the docks, seeing nothing but a sea of humans. Charles does the same, head moving from side to side as he takes in the docks laid out ahead of them, tugging at his hood again. His eyes narrow as he looks around—something Ares knows helps humans to see a little better—before he turns his gaze to Ares, seeming to wait for his direction. 

“You were right about humans being everywhere,” Ares says, not looking down to Charles though his words are directed at the man.

Charles pulls his cigarettes out of his pocket, shaking one out against his hand. “It’s Shanxi, not just  _ a  _ human colony, but  _ the  _ human colony. The only one to have been surrendered during the First Contact War.” He puts the cigarette between his lips, stuffing the pack back in his pocket before using his lighter. “The people here wear that shame like a badge of honor. They’re all a little fucked in the head … you’re not going to find much help here.”

Ares grunts and huffs a laugh. “Like I need it.” Motioning at Charles to walk with him, he heads for the exit for the docks, ignoring the numerous humans gawking like pyjaks frozen in the beam of a bright light. He doesn’t see much difference between the disgusting animals and the pyjaks now that he’s surrounded by so many. “You have that ID I gave you?”

Charles glances up at Ares, lifting an eyebrow. “Of course.”

Ares nods and reaches into his pocket to take his out in signal for Charles to do the same. When the two reach a scanner for their IDs, Ares taps his own to the scanner—ringing—his false identity revealing him to be a cargo ship’s worker out for a quick exploration while waiting for the next trip—before stepping out of the way for Charles to scan his own, equally unassuming, ID card. Ares vaguely hears the attendant keeping the scanners functioning advising they have a nice visit as he and Charles head deeper into the city. They get stares, though mostly aimed at his own turian body than Charles’ out of place, hooded form walking beside him. Flicking his eyes over the crowd, Ares catalogues every human with fury in their eyes, reading their body language without turning his head towards them.  

None show signs of moving against him, their aggression nothing but a show that only makes them feel better, and figures they damn well knew Ares could easily break them if they chose to attack first. Even as an outcast from his people, he doubts the humans—on Shanxi of all places—would want to bring more attention to themselves by attacking a turian. The Hierarchy would act out of principal, the turians not a people to just let other species think they can move against them without retribution.

Ares knows the route to his destination by memory, having studied it rigorously in the long hours on their transport vessel. Deeper into the city—and apparently towards the section of the city meant not to be really frequented by visiting tourists given its location deep into the civilian district where outsiders aren’t bound to visit—Ares and Charles arrive at just the place Ares chose to scope out their first target. It’s a bar nestled between some kind of strange smelling restaurant and a building that’s purpose he can’t place, with its odd face, named The Black Diamond. Charles’ step slows, and he looks up at Ares, understanding darkening his gaze. He doesn’t say anything, though, just tugs at his hood again.

“You choose how this goes,” Ares says as he walks towards the bar, knowing Charles stays at his side without looking. “This is all for you to choose.”  

When Ares does glance down, mere footsteps from the bar, he sees Charles nod, still silent, but much closer than before. It’s a good enough acknowledgement for Ares as he opens the door and steps inside, holding it open for Charles to follow. He scopes out the room, dim and smokey as it is, nose plates flexing at the stale smell, and reminds himself that this is far from the Citadel’s bars but nowhere near as horrible as Omega’s. His examination finds a small booth with perfect sight on the door, the rest of the bar’s floor is open and situated so that he only needs to turn his head to see everything, everybody. Hell, he can probably see it all without making it obvious he’s looking around if he sits just right at the booth.

He doesn’t need to look down to know Charles is beside him, he can practically feel the tension rolling off of the man pressed at his side. Best Charles sticks close anyways, as Ares would rather attention be on him and Charles together than separately. Less likely to have Charles recognized that way. Stopping at the booth, Ares points to where he wants Charles to sit, somewhere allowing the man to see but also have Ares between him and any bar patrons. It might slow Charles down if anything happens, but until then, Ares would rather be a barrier between anything and the man.

Sitting once Charles takes his place, Ares reaches into his pocket to pull out his cigarettes. Placing one in between his mouth plates, he searches in his other pocket for the lighter among the various small blades and few pieces of ammunition he keeps close at hand for instant use, enabling him to get a few shots out before needing to move to his actual ammo belts. Before he can find the damn thing, he sees a flicker of fire out of the corner of his eye. He looks over just in time to see Charles lean over and offer his own lighter, making Ares nearly lose grip on his cigarette in surprise. To keep from dropping—and wasting—his cigarette, he clamps his mandibles and cups a hand over Charles’ to protect the fire against any gusts, leans forward, and uses the offered flame to light his cigarette. Charles smiles at him with a softness in his eyes, and he waits until the lighter is extingushed with a flick of the man’s wrist before rumbling in thanks, giving Charles a nod.

“Get comfortable.” Ares’ voice is low, barely loud enough to be heard as he leans in to speak to Charles. “We might be here a while.”

Charles takes a drag from his cigarette before picking at the edge of the wooden table, tearing off a splinter with his thumbnail. “He’s a drunk, if he still comes to this shithole, it won’t take him long to show up, but he’ll be here all night.” After taking another drag, he opens his omni-tool, and Ares sees him access an extranet search page before typing in his father’s name.

Turning away from Charles’ personal searching, Ares inhales a long drag before exhaling as he watches the patrons of the bar wander about. The place is empty compared to the constant flow of people in the bars Ares knows, but he assumes that has to do mostly with the actual day and night cycle. He supposes it’s not really a societal norm to drink during the daylight hours. That, and leaving a bar drunk while the sun is still out would definitely be uncomfortable. At least, the light would be too harsh for his eyes—eye—after a good swim in the strong stuff he prefers, but it could just be a turian thing. He never knew a human he could ask about that sort of thing.

As the bar begins to awaken, more humans arriving at what Ares assumes must be the end of a workday—or  just the beginning of the night, if Shanxi’s cycles have a different amount of sunlight than Palaven—he starts to hear a muffled grind. He pulls his attention from the bar’s incoming customers and looks down to Charles, nose shifting as he smells the sour scent of grief mixing with the hot spice of rage. Ares watches as Charles’ eyes stay on his omni-tool and stamps out his spent cigarette on the scuffed, dirty table. Seeing the way the man’s jaw shifts, the muscles along his jaw twitching, Ares now knows the source of the grinding sound, but he doesn’t let it continue. He reaches over and grabs Charles’ chin to still the movement. If humans are anything like turians—which he doubts—then forcing the jaw to move unnaturally causes pain, and damage in the long run. The two of them have enough problems without Charles making it so that he can’t even function properly after they kill those they’ve set out to hunt down.

Charles’ chin jerks at the contact, but the man’s eyes found Ares’, and he stops the movement even if he doesn’t relax his jaw. He sucks a slow breath in through his nose before tugging his face free of Ares’ grip, running his fingers over his omni-tool. A moment later Ares’ own tool pinged.

Checking the message, Ares hums in understanding. He doesn’t know what it’s like to lose a mother, at least not in the same way, but he thinks seeing his father die will help Charles. At least it’ll hopefully keep him from pulverising his teeth with that disconcerting thing he was just doing. Unable to really say anything to Charles, Ares looks back out into the bar and stares intently at the door, waiting for the entrance of his target.

It can’t have been more than half an hour before the door opens, and a volus of a man steps in. Ares knows humans can form into volus shapes, their stomachs wide and bulbous, but at least his target isn’t  _ exactly  _ the size around as a volus. That would’ve just taken the fun out of it, if the man’s health was affected by his weight to the point that he keeled over before Ares could even do anything to him.  

Watching the man approach the bar and climb onto a stool, Ares agrees with Charles that there is no way this disgusting ass didn’t kill his—by comparison—healthy wife. It doesn’t compare to the fear he now smells on Charles, hands fisting tightly enough that the skin turns white just before he pulls them down beneath the table to settle in his lap. Ares doesn’t like the change in Charles even more than the fact that his mother was abused to the point of death.

He’s going to enjoy killing Charles’ father, and he selfishly wants to be allowed to be the one to do it.

Hours pass, filled with Ares smoking nearly all of his opened cigarettes, before Charles’ father is, apparently, too drunk for even the bartender to deal with him. There is a great deal of shouting coming from the shitfaced man, but the only response his belligerence gets him is a swift urging out the bar by one of the only men not even slightly intoxicated. Ares figures he’s just been removed by whoever this bar considers bouncers, and that was the signal to move that he’s been waiting on all night. Laying a hand on Charles’ shoulder to get the man’s attention, Ares stands up from the bench, keeping his eyes on the door, and waits until he feels Charles’ presence at his side. 

Knowing he doesn’t need to ask Charles if he’s ready, suspecting that the man wouldn’t really have a steady answer about facing his father after all the shit the man put him through, Ares navigates through the crowd, ignoring the mix of shock and fury in the patrons’ eyes. He won’t let them stand in his way of righting this first wrong, not when it’ll help Charles in the end. He makes sure Charles is still with him when he reaches and opens the door, nodding when it looks like the man never even left his side. Stepping out into the dark Shanxi night, Ares turns his sights first north, then south before spotting Charles’ father swaying as he stumbles down the street.  

He must live close.

“Keep up with me,” Ares whispers down to Charles before following his target, stride no longer shortened in order for the smaller species to keep up. Charles might need to speed up his pace, but Ares wants to stick close enough to Charles’ father that nothing stops them from arriving at his home—and the scene of his death.

Charles jogs at Ares’ side, sticking to the patches of grassy yards where his steps are muffled. When Ares sees Charles’ father begin to stumble towards one house in particular—and the one Ares knows belongs to him based on the pattern of ascending numbers emblazoned on each house they’ve passed—he picks Charles up with an arm under his waist and moves, faster than the man could have on his own, to reach a vehicle parked at the neighboring house. Sliding into place, he and Charles crouch behind the vehicle. Ares listens to the uncoordinated footsteps as his target stumbles up through the grass, over pavement, then grass again, a crunching type of stone, and finally pavement again. He waits until he hears the soft chime of a lock deactivating, the opening of a door, and then the closing of the door before he looks over the top of the car to check his target’s position. He finds nothing but clear yards speckled with the occasional vehicle in a paved driveway.

He looks to Charles and rumbles in reassurance that they are really doing this. “Last chance to take the lead here.”

Charles looks down at the ground in front of them, then shakes his head. “Not … not with him.”

Ares doesn’t know why—perhaps because of the bitter smell of fear on the man—but he leans closer to Charles and presses his forehead to the human’s temple, giving him a quick purr. It ends just as quickly, leaving a strange feeling that Ares doesn’t have the mind or time to look into, and he gives Charles a last look, taking in the shift of emotions to something more akin to gratitude and deep trust in the man’s eyes, before standing. He gives a hand signal from his days in the military to direct Charles to keep low and quiet, but he isn’t sure if it translates. Doesn’t quite matter, though, as their approach is quick and silent, Ares instantly opening up his omni-tool to run a hacking system for the door lock. It doesn’t take long to crack the flimsy code, and Ares closes his tool right as the door slides open and gives Charles a last glance over his shoulder, catching a nod come from the man.

No longer in need of staying low and hidden, Ares stands, hearing his spine pop softly, and quietly steps from the entryway with his ears primed to seek out his target. He hears sounds to his left, towards a kitchen, and sees the man banging around in his cabinets, apparently in search of something. The clearly intoxicated idiot shouts swears, damning people who apparently wronged him, as he tosses some things out of his cabinet before finding what he wants, a bottle of even more liquor. He doesn’t even notice Ares standing in his entryway—and Charles is overshadowed by Ares’ size—as the drunk staggers past and into the direction of the living room. Just as the slob flops into a chair, flips it open to recline, and activates the large vidscreen, it’s sound obnoxiously loud, his bottle is already open and raised to his lips.

Ares winces at the sound, way too loud for his taste, but before he can move deeper into the house, he feels a tug at his jacket sleeve. Looking back to Charles, he is handed a rounded bar of wood that’s width increases down its length. Ares thinks he’s seen this before in association to some sport, but he can’t place a name to it. Still, he knows what Charles offers and nods, smirking. If Charles wants to see him beat the shit out of his father before killing him, then who is he to argue? It might actually be fun, and with the television so damn loud, the neighbors won’t even hear anything out of the ordinary.

Ares tests the weight of the wooden tool in his hand, tossing it from hand to hand as he quickly makes his way to the back of the chair. Standing directly behind Charles’ father, Ares lightly taps the end of his weapon on the man’s head, grinning when the disgusting pyjak jumps high enough to spill some of his alcohol.  

“The fuck?!” Charles’ dad shouts, stumbling to his feet and, in his attempt to turn, trips over his own feet but remains standing. “How the fuck did a fucking bird get in my house?! Get the fuck—”

Before the man can finish, Ares kicks the chair between them hard, bashing it into the man’s legs to send him toppling. “Now, now, Roger. Is that any way to greet guests?” He grins and pats the wooden club into his palm as he rounds the chair, putting his large foot on Roger’s chest to shove him back onto the ground. “I’m offended.”

“Is that my fucking bat—” Roger can’t finish his sentence as Ares shifts his foot and slams it down on one of Roger’s knees, hearing it break with a resounding crack and the man’s pitiful scream.

“Wrong question,” Ares says, growling under his words before he taps the—apparently—bat on the broken knee. “How about a better one or I break the other knee.”

“Fuck you.” The man grinds his teeth, eyes flicking across the room before focusing just past Ares. “You!” he hisses, and Ares automatically knows the subject of Roger’s visible rage. “You fucking queer! You let this goddamn piece of shit into my house? Not man enough to face me yourself? You’re pathetic. Pathetic, worthless.” He huffs a weak scoff. “What? Feel bad about leaving your mother just like you left your sister to die?”

Ares steps aside when he hears Charles’ heavy footsteps rush towards Roger, watching as Charles kicks his father, foot connecting with the man’s jaw. “Shut the fuck up!”

Roger groans, and Ares takes the moment to bend down and grab the bottle of alcohol for use later. Setting it on the seat so it doesn’t spill, he looks back to Charles, waiting for any indication of how he wants to move forward. With one more swift kick to the same spot, Charles backs away and begins pacing, a crazed look in his eyes as he runs his hands through his hair repeatedly.

“Kill him,” Charles says, voice tense, almost to the point of snapping, as his gaze continues to dart aimlessly around the room.

Rumbling in understanding, Ares looks down to Roger with a grin. “Looks like you’ll get an easy out.” He leans down as realization dawns on the man’s face and grabs him around the neck, talons digging into the fatty flesh. “Let’s see just how much you like your liquor.”

Ares holds the man off the ground for a moment, staring at the face of a man that ruined Charles and scowls, mandibles flicking in rage. Stepping back, he tosses the man away from the cramped area between recliner, couch, coffee table, and the vidscreen, still screaming some nonsense chatter. Roger lands with a heavy thud on the open floor between living room and entryway, whimpering when he lands on his knee.

“Stupid fucking….  Fucker…” Roger continues to curse, trying to crawl away as Ares tosses away the bat, grabs the still mostly full bottle, and storms to Roger, all amusement gone. He pauses when Charles squats down next to them.

Staring straight into his father’s eyes, a slow smile spreads over Charles’ face. “Beg, Dad. Beg him to stop. Just like you used to make me beg. Like you made mom beg.”

Ares watches as the dying flickers of fury flash in Roger’s eyes, but the man doesn’t move, seemingly frozen on his shaking hands and knee by Charles’ joyous revelling. That’s all the assurance Ares needs that these final moments will be filled with horror and agony, he grabs Roger’s shoulder and slams it onto the floor, forcing the man onto his back. When Ares straddles the man’s chest, hungry grin on his face and vocals thrumming in excitement, Roger begins to beg.

“Charles… please…. Please, Charles….” The man stares up at Charles who is still crouched beside Ares, his eyes wide like prey, and his scent heavy with fear and panic. “Please help me….  I’m sorry…. So sorry…. Please…. I’ll make it up to you, I promise!”

Voice cold as ice, Charles says, “Not. A. Fucking. Chance. In. Hell.” He lifts his gaze to Ares and nods.

Smirking, Ares turns back to Roger and grabs his chin forcefully enough that Ares’ talons sink into the skin and fat. He uses his hold to wrench open the man’s mouth releasing loud, pathetic whines and sobs as the saltiness of tears fill Ares’ nostrils. He purrs in amusement as he shoves the bottle into the man’s mouth, cutting off any sound besides panicked gurgles, and releases Roger’s chin to grab his nose, pinching it hard enough to feel the tiny bone beneath break. The body below him squirms, hands clawing at Ares’ arms as the man tries to scream and tears flow continuously from his eyes. Slowly, and with one final glance to Charles in plea, Roger’s fight begins to wane, his strength failing him as his lungs continue to fill with the liquid he so loves.

Ares looks to Charles just as he feels Roger’s last attempts to save himself fade, his body no longer able to maintain even the most unconscious of actions to survive. He finds Charles watching his father intently, no expression on his face and eyes as cold as his voice a moment before. Feeling the last jerks from Roger’s body, Ares turns back to the sight to see the last of the liquor still in the bottle, nowhere to go with the man dead. He holds Roger’s nose for a moment longer before releasing, pulling out the bottle to spill the alcohol across the corpse’s face and tossing it aside. He stays on Roger for a moment, listening for any sound from Charles.

Ares hears shuffling beside him and looks to see Charles leaning forward, knees making contact with the floor. He reaches for Ares, and Ares leans into his grab, feeling the small, human hand wrap around his neck and tug him into a kiss. He growls at the force, the hunger, as their tongues fight for control, both of them not caring for their teeth. Mirroring Charles’ grip on his own neck, Ares wraps his hand partially around Charles’ neck and pulls him even closer, growling into the man’s mouth. Charles doesn’t resist, pressing closer to Ares’ body as he tilts his head into their kiss, as if doing so would close the small separation that still lies between them.


	5. First Taste of Blood

Charles has never felt so alive in his entire life. Every sensation, every sight, every sound, every touch is like wildfire coursing through his veins. The adrenaline faded, but he still feels high from it. A part of him wants to find someone to fight, just for the hell of it, but another part of him wants to pull Ares off into a dark alley and have his way with him. Jesus Christ, Ares is so incredibly hot. Some distant part of Charles’ mind knows that he’s teetering on the edge of darkness, he shouldn’t be so buoyant, let alone so aroused, from having watched a man beat and then drown his father in whiskey … yet he is, and he already craves the chance to let out some of the extra energy on the five men who raped and murdered his sister. The same men who raped and beat him so badly, he was in the hospital for two months after.

How does Ares do it? How does he seem so … calm and indifferent now that Charles’ father’s body lays behind them, cooling in a puddle of his own shit and piss? Ares sure seemed to enjoy himself in the moment. Charles glances up at the turian, watching him as they stalk through the streets. He isn’t entirely sure where they are going now, but it doesn’t matter. He knows Ares will take him right to the men, and he’ll stand right beside Charles while he sinks his razor into their flesh. Hell, this probably means that neither one of them are exactly level-headed. He’s known Ares is an assassin from the get go, but he figured that meant sneaking up behind people and snapping their necks, or killing them from a distance with that sniper rifle he carries around. What they did tonight … that was something else entirely.

Ares doesn’t look his way, he just keeps moving, what little of his face Charles can see, thanks to the soft glow of the occasional street lamp, is void of any emotion. He keeps his eyes forward, but he seems taller, walking with his back straighter as they move through the night. Charles stays close to him, now more than ever loathing the idea of ever being apart from the turian. He blinks, seeing his father’s last moments on the back of his eyelids, and it only makes him feel more jittery, full of energy with no ready outlet.

They’ve been on the move for about an hour now. Charles didn’t ask where they were going, and Ares didn’t say, but the turian’s sure footsteps seem to be leading them toward the Fast Fuel down the street, sitting right on the corner and bathed in bright lights. Charles wonders which of the men’s faces he’ll see inside the store, he remembers each and every one of them. The way they look, the way they sound … the way they smell. Bile rises up in his throat, and he swallows it back down.

Just before they’ll be forced to leave the shadows, Ares opens his omni-tool and uses it to do something to the cameras positioned on the corners of the building—undoubtedly cutting the feeds somehow. Charles slows, watching the man work, ready to be told what to do. After a short moment, Ares closes his omni-tool’s interface and looks down to Charles, flicking his mandibles once.

“We’re ready. I’ll lock the doors behind us,” he says, gesturing towards the store with his hand.

Charles glances at the store and then back to Ares. “What if there are other people inside. This is a public place.”

“There aren’t. I checked the camera feed. And if there’s anyone in the back rooms, I’ll hear them.” Ares taps the side of his head, towards the end of his cheek and temple fringes. “I have your back, I won’t let anyone be around to catch us.”

Charles nods, pulling his backpack around to his chest long enough to dig out the tin and palm his father’s razor blade. He leaves the bag hanging from one shoulder, planning to drop it next to the door once they’re inside. Popping his neck, he says, “I’m ready.”

Ares nods and steps out into the bright light surrounding the convenience store. Leading Charles to the door, the turian pauses and looks down to him, jerking his head towards the door as he steps aside. Charles smiles, pushing the door open, wincing a little at the door’s automatic chime. Scanning the convenience store, he doesn’t see anyone right away. He glances over his shoulder and sees Ares lock the door. Charles lets his backpack slide down off his arm, gently letting it fall to the floor before nudging it behind a featured product stand with his foot. His grip shifts on the razor, still closed, as he moves further into the store.

Heart starting to pound a little faster, a little harder, his fingers feel weak and for a second he thinks he might drop the blade before he ever gets the chance to use it. A sound off to his right and towards the back of the store catches his attention, and he turns down one of the aisles. The concave mirror positioned in the upper corner of the store shows Charles a man squatting down in front of one of the refrigerated shelves, his back to the next aisle over. Several crates sit stacked next to him, holding booze and sports drinks.

Charles can’t see the man’s face, but there’s a familiarity about the shape of his hunched body that sends the hairs on the back of Charles’ neck standing on end. Moving as quietly as he can, he continues down the aisle, flipping open his razor but keeping it down low next to his thigh as he rounds the corner. Glancing over his shoulder again, needing the assurance that Ares is with him, he finds the turian’s looming presence right at his back. Ares gives him a gentle, encouraging nudge, and Charles takes the last few steps he’ll need to get a good look at the man’s face.

The man turns a little, reaching for a crate of Tupari, his gaze flicking briefly to Charles before turning back to his task. It’s all Charles needs. Memories, as fresh as if they just happened the day before flash before his eyes, and Charles feels himself tilt over, crossing well over that line. He wants to see this man bleed, wants to see him suffer, in the worst kind of way. Moving on down the aisle, gaze sweeping over the shelves to his right, trying to appear as if he’s looking for something in particular, Charles makes his way closer to the man crouched down at his left.

He stops, back to the man, well within striking distance and takes a deep breath. The man’s words from eleven years before rise up from the recesses of his mind, that dark place where he usually fights to keep them hidden, right to the tip of his tongue. “Listen to that little bitch scream. I think she likes it, don’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Confusion fills the man’s voice but underneath it, a hint of delicious fear.

Charles turns his head, glancing over his shoulder at the man, now half turned to look up at Charles and Ares. His grip tightens on the razor hidden by his body. “That’s what you said to me.”

The man’s brow furrows, something angry and defensives in his eyes. “What the fuck are …. Jesus, it’s—”

Charles spins around, his hand arching through the air as he brings the razor blade down, slicing across the man’s face. Blood sprays everywhere, hitting Charles, hitting Ares, hitting everything within range. The man’s first scream is euphoric, like hearing God’s voice whispering in Charles’ ear. Or perhaps the Devil’s. He doesn’t know, and just now, he really doesn’t care. All he wants is to hear it again. The man tumbles, losing his balance as his hands fly up to ward off more blows, making him slam into the racks right in front of him, jarring cans of beer and bottles of wine coolers loose, making them rain down on the man.

Charles doesn’t waste any time, he can’t even if he wants to, the sharp, metallic tang of blood in the air has sent him over the edge. He slashes at the man, again, and again, and again, not even caring where the blows land. Each new cut bringing forth one of those glorious, agonized screams, and for a moment, silencing Sarah’s screams inside his own head. It’s like he can feel that little part of his sister he’s been carrying around with him for years stop crying and watch with rapt attention. The man flails, his elbow catching Charles in the shoulder, making him stumble back, his foot sliding in blood. Strong hands wrap around his ribs, urging him back upright.

Charles throws himself back at the man, wrestling him flat to the ground, losing his razor blade in the process. The man fights, giving every last bit of strength he has into trying to buck Charles free, aiming blows at his head, face, and chest. Charles avoids them the best he can, but even when one lands, he doesn’t feel it, not even a little. Grabbing fist fulls of the man’s thick, curly hair, Charles lifts the man’s head as much as he can before slamming it over and over into the hard, ceramic tile floor.

Stunned, the man stops moving, eyes losing focus. When Charles let go of his hair, his head lists to the side, a groan seeping out of his throat. Gaze flicking around the area in search of his razor, it appears suddenly in front of Charles’ face, attached to the long arm of a turian. Somehow, for just a moment, he forgot Ares was even there. Wrapping his bloodsoaked fingers around the handle, he lifts his gaze to Ares as he takes the razor from his lover’s hand. It occurs to him, in some distant part of his mind, that the turian’s dark clothing is perfect for hiding the blood.

Turning his attention back to the dazed man beneath him—he doesn’t even know his name, and now it will never, ever matter again—Charles takes half a second to thank Mrs. Baker for her biology lessons all those years ago, and then digs the razor into the man’s flesh, just above the carotid artery and pulls. The man’s body jerks, thrashing beneath Charles as blood gushes with each weakening beat of his heart, washing over Charles in hot waves. He fights to stay upright until the man stops thrashing, eyes glazing over more and more with each splash of blood.

A monster roars to life in the back of Charles’ mind, and he knows it won’t ever be silent again, not until the last man falls. When at last the man stops moving completely, and Charles is almost entirely sure he’s dead, Charles stays there, staring at the blood. He’s never seen so much blood in all his life. Yet, somehow, it’s not enough.

His whole body starts to tremble, the time for fight or flight over. Hearing his own pulse throbbing in his ears, his stare remains fixed on the body beneath him, unable to tear his gaze away. Everything else around him fades to nothing but background static as gravity continues to pull blood from the lifeless corpse, pooling out around him. Charles reaches up, razor still in his hand, and runs the tip of a finger over his brow, wiping away blood threatening to drip into his eyes.

A soft rumble and movement in his peripherals makes Charles’ head snap to the side. Ares moves a little closer, putting a supportive hand on Charles’ back. Reality comes rushing back in around him with the contact, bringing with it an exhaustion worse than what Charles has felt in years. He tries to push himself up, but struggles to stand, body weak and slick with blood. Ares lifts one of Charles’ arms, draping it over his own shoulders before wrapping his other arm around Charles’ waist and pulls him to his feet.

Hands still trembling, Charles stops to stare down at the corpse one last time as he wipes his razor blade clean against his thigh and closes it, slipping it into his pocket. Ares hums, tugging at Charles to get him walking again, and Ares leads him towards the door, stopping to scoop up his bag before Ares slings it over his shoulder.

Cool, night air hits Charles in the face, doing little to rid his nostrils of the smell of blood but helping him to shake some of the fog surrounding his brain. He isn’t going to make it very far like this before he has to stop and rest for a little bit, not to mention if anyone sees a giant turian half carrying a bloodsoaked human through the streets in the middle of the night …. He’s just about to say something to Ares when the man redirects him toward one of the skycars.

Ares eases Charles out of his grip, leaning him against the skycar. Opening his omni-tool, Ares grumbles something about human tech as he digs through his programs. Charles huffs, lowering himself to the gravel and slides his hand beneath the undercarriage, fingers finding what he’s looking for a second later, he sorts through the wires, muscle memory leading the way before he yanks one free. It might’ve been a few years, but one doesn’t spend so much time stealing skycars and robbing houses without learning a few things along the way.

Glancing up at Ares, who watches him with a brow ridge cocked and mandibles flared, he holds out his hand. The turian reaches down, gripping Charles’ hand and yanks, pulling him back to his feet. Grinning even as he sways, Charles reaches over and opens the skycar door, holding his hand out toward the driver’s seat in offer. Ares huffs, mandibles flicking with amusement as he climbs inside. Using the vehicle to support himself, Charles rounds the skycar and opens the other door, dropping down into the seat next to Ares before pulling the door closed. All security features overridden with that one wire disabled, Charles collapses against the door and closes his eyes, knowing Ares will get him somewhere safe. He feels the skycar lift into the air, but he doesn’t bother to look where they’re going.

* * *

 

Charles watches from the skycar window as Ares materializes out of the shadows, walking straight for the vehicle. He stops next to the passenger side door and opens it, holding his hand out to Charles. Taking the turian’s hand, he pulls himself from the car and follows Ares back into the building. It’s a gym, closed for the night, but will probably be opening up again before sunrise. They won’t have long here, but it’ll be enough time for Charles to get clean and eat something.

Ares leads him straight for the men’s locker room, having already spent a couple of minutes inside to make sure it was safe. He sits on the bench, kicking off his socks and shoes while Ares turns on the water in one of the shower stalls. He pulls his hoodie, once a blue but now blood splattered to shades of purple, over his head and drops it to the floor. There’s probably a laundry facility somewhere in the gym, too. He doesn’t care if he has to trash the clothes, but it doesn’t exactly seem smart to leave clothes laying around soaked in his sweat and someone else’s blood. He’ll run it by Ares in a minute, for now, he just wants to concentrate on actually getting out of the clothes insisting on sticking to his body, dried blood acting like glue.

Ares turns back around, watching Charles as he tugs at his t-shirt. Crossing the floor in quick strides, Ares waves his long fingers at Charles, urging him to his feet. He stands, lifting his arms obediently as Ares works the shirt up over his head. Tossing the shirt to the floor with Charles’ hoodie, Ares turns his attention to undoing Charles’ pants. As drained as he feels, feeling Ares’ hands on him with the dead man’s screams still echoing in his ears, blood still on his skin … his mind starts to wander. Watching Ares as he squats, working the pants down over Charles’ hips and thighs, he reaches out, pressing his palm to Ares’ cheek and lets out a content sigh.

Ares turns his head a little, blue tongue leaving his mouth to lick Charles from wrist to palm, leaving a wet streak through the dried blood. Charles’ breath hitches in his throat, ramping up the entirely different kind of hunger stirring to life inside of him. Ares lets out a low growl, and Charles hums, the response slipping out of him almost instinctively as he lifts his leg. Ares cups his calf to steady him, pulling the pant leg free. Easily stepping out of the other leg once his foot is back on solid ground, Charles kicks his pants off to the side. He lets out a little moan, his cock hardening as Ares hooks his fingers into Charles’ boxers, tugging them down, too.

Ares wraps his hands around Charles’ thigh and slides them up onto his ass, hefting him up in one move as the turian stands. He wraps his legs around Ares, lacing his fingers behind the turian’s neck and pulls his face closer, covering Ares’ mouth with his own. Ares growls, pressing into the kiss as he carries Charles to the shower. Settling him down on the floor, Ares urges Charles under the hot spray of water before backing away, stripping himself of his clothing and equipment in seconds.

A moment later, Ares steps under the water, and Charles backs up a step to give him a little more room. Ares tilts his face up to the spray, closing his eyes, and Charles settles a hand on the turian’s hip as he watches him in silence. Letting out a heavy exhale, Ares opens his eyes and looks down at Charles. Shifting a little, Charles moves into the water, scrubbing his hand over his face and hair, washing away some of the blood. He glances down, watching the water turn red as it circles around the drain between his and Ares’ feet.

Ares runs his talons through Charles’ hair, thick fingers catching in the clotted blood, tugging a little as he breaks the matted mess free. Charles closes his eyes, tilting his head back beneath the water, enjoying the feel of the hot sting of the shower spray wash over his face before traveling down his neck and chest. Opening his eyes again, he runs his hand along Ares’ chest and shoulders, anchoring himself in the moment and the feel of solid muscle beneath his fingers. Moving his hands from Charles’ hair, Ares cups his face, brushing his fingers over stubborn patches of dried blood to wash it away.

Charles licks his lips, tasting the watered down blood as it runs along his skin. “Was that … too much?”

“Was what?” Ares’ eyes finally focus on Charles’, his hands stilling. “The kill?”

Charles nods. “I made a huge mess … took too long.”

Ares shrugs and goes back to his cleaning, moving his hands to Charles’ neck and shoulders. “Want me to tell you what I did to the bastard that betrayed me when I finally found him?”

Charles just nods, tightening his grip a little on Ares’ plates, feeling the turian, real and solid beneath his fingers.

Ares tilts his head, humming in his throat as he uses his talon to gently scrape off some blood on Charles’ shoulder. “I first stabbed him in the back like he did to me, then I pushed him into the protein vats to watch him dissolve.” He huffs in amusement and looks into Charles’ eyes. “I stayed and watched him until he was nothing but armor and bones. It took him hours of excruciating pain before he finally died.”

Charles tries to imagine what it must’ve been like for Ares, to not only watch the man who hurt him die but then continue to watch until there was nothing left. Licking his lips again, part of him still unsure of what Ares might think, Charles’ voice is low when he says, “It felt really good, cutting him. I’ve never seen so much blood before. I don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this … is it?”

Ares snorts, shrugging. “I don’t know about other people, but it felt really fucking good for me. Better than sex.”

Charles huffs, lifting the corner of his mouth in a playful smirk as he relaxes a little. “I must not be doing something right.” Letting the smile fade, he lifts his shoulder. “It kinda … it turned me on. That’s crazy, right?”

“No. It does the same for me,” Ares says as he leans in close and over Charles to growl in his ear. “I wanted to fuck you in that convenience store, but it’d take too long and we needed to leave the scene.”

Skin prickling, heart skipping a beat or two, Charles drops one of his hands back to Ares’ hip, tugging him a little closer as he whispers, “I don’t think most people would think that’s … healthy.”

Ares barks a laugh and slides one hand back up to glide into Charles’ hair, moving the other to Charles’ hand, holding it firmer against his waist. Ares squeezes Charles’ fingers, guiding his hand in a tighter grip around Ares’ waist and gives him a soft growl. “Neither one of us is. I’ve come to that realization a long time ago. I’m more than fine with it.”

Charles tightens his grip on the hide beneath his fingers, earning him a little hitch in Ares’ breath as he digs in the tips of his fingers, pulling Ares even closer. Leaning in, he brushes his lips over Ares’ keel, stopping to nip at the places where plate gives way to exposed hide. “Yeah, I think I am, too.” Charles bends his knees, not having far to go with their height differences, and sinks his teeth into the turian’s waist before trailing his tongue along the surface, lapping up the blood-flavored water trickling over his hide.

Ares groans, tilting his head back as he shivers at the attention to his sensitive waist. He lays his hand on Charles’ shoulder and squeezes lightly, just enough to get Charles’ to look up, before releasing him. “You’re going to kill me with that shit.”

Charles chuckles, nipping him again. “Does that mean you want me to stop?”

“Fuck no,” Ares says quickly, breath coming out in soft pants.

Using his hands on Ares hips, Charles guides him back against the shower wall. “Hmmm, sounds a little like something I said the other night that you didn’t seem to understand.” He glances up at Ares, giving him a smirk, kneading at the man’s hips and waist.

Ares purrs, the sound rough, groin plates shifting as his cock begins to emerge. He seems unable to stop his body as he moves in time with Charles’ hands, grinding his hips into Charles’ grasp. The turian’s chest heaves as he curses too low to translate and groans, vocals undulating. Charles hides his grin against Ares waist, sinking his teeth in again, gauging the turian’s reaction as he bites a little harder. Ares’ palms slap against the tile wall, talons scratching into the surface. It’s all Charles needs to know, he learned long ago that it’s a sensitive spot for Ares, but he never had the chance to really explore it because the turian never let him take the lead for more than a few seconds. Sinking his teeth in as deep as he can, which granted is nothing compared to Ares’ bites, the turian moans, echoing off the shower walls and vibrating all the way through his body.

Charles leaves his teeth there, digging in until his jaw aches, joints grinding together in protest. Easing up, he pulls his teeth from Ares’ hide and runs his tongue over the teeth impressions left behind. Moving across Ares’ lower abdomen, Charles stops to run his tongue along the seams in Ares’ plates, tasting the thick, slick fluid seeping out before moving on to bite at the other side of his waist. He doesn’t waste time there, sinking his teeth right in while kneading the mark he left on the other side.

Ares grunts loudly and hits his head on the wall, fingers flexing against the tiles and leaving scratches from his talons. His plates open completely, emerging hard and slick with his own fluids, and he trembles in a full body shiver, panting heavily. His thigh tenses against Charles’ chest as he struggles to stay upright. Charles hums happily around the hide in his mouth, pulling his teeth back out and running his tongue over the same spot. Bringing his other hand up to knead the teeth marks, he tilts his head back, glancing up at the turian as he works both sides between his fingers.

Charles smiles, turning his attention to the expanse of abdomen in front of him. Ares’ flat, almost convex stomach makes it a little harder for him to nip at the hide there, but he finds a way, contorting himself into an awkward angle, letting Ares’ erection press against his chest and throat. Centimeter by centimeter, he leaves a garter belt of bite marks across Ares, trailing his tongue over each one. Lowering himself further, he glances up at the turian again, finding his head still tilted back, and then Charles runs his tongue over Ares’ cock from base to tip before wrapping his mouth over it. Starting slow, despite Ares reaction to the speed of Charles’ choice last time, he wills the ache in his jaws to ease, taking Ares in deeper.

When Ares keeps his hands on the wall, Charles’ shoulders relax, and he shifts a little, finding a better angle that he can maintain. Fingers still firmly digging into Ares’ waist, he fights to relax the muscles of his throat and starts moving faster, sucking harder, pulling at the cock in his mouth. The taste of Ares on his tongue only makes his own cock start to throb, demanding attention, but it can wait. Ares’ occasional snarl turns into one, long, constant sound, reverberating through the whole room. His body tenses, talons nearly ripping tiles free as he seems to fight to stay still. Charles moans, the sounds coming from Ares ramping up his need. Reaching out, Charles tests his own limits, tugging at one of Ares’ arms to get him to give Charles his hand as he looks up along the length of the turian’s body.

Ares’ head jerks, eyes snapping to Charles, half-lidded and all pupil. Half a second later, he tears his hand away from the wall, giving it to Charles, his arm shaking but his grip firm. Charles guides the hand to his shoulder, holding it there for a moment, assuring himself as much as telling Ares he wants it to stay right there. Once he feels certain … and safe … Charles puts his hand back on Ares’ waist.

Digging his fingers into the bitemarks, Charles picks up his speed. Ares’ hand remains tense and motionless at first, but after a moment, his fingers begin to squeeze at Charles’ shoulder, moving in a ragged rhythm with his pants of breath. It takes Charles only a second to adjust mentally, accepting the contact and movement. So long as it’s not restraining, forceful, he can handle it. One of Ares’ talons scrapes across his skin, sending an unexpected bolt of lightning through Charles, making his cock twitch as he moans.

“ _Fuck_ …. You’re… killing… me…” Ares says between moans and gasps for air, writhing against the wall. “Unless… you want… me… to cum… you need… to stop….”

Charles considers that for only half a second, and then decides, as much as he aches for his own release, he wants to give this to Ares more. Digging his fingers in deeper, he keeps sucking, swallowing as he uses his tongue to pull at the underside of Ares’ cock. Ares tenses, a near deafening growl tearing through him, cum washing over Charles tongue and coating his throat as Ares bucks his hips. Charles’ fingers tighten on Ares’ waist, pushing his palms into the turian’s hips, using it to give himself a little control in the moment, as he swallows down each fresh gush of cum. He waits for Ares’ movements to slow before releasing him, and he slides against the wall, plopping down to the tile floor with a grunt.

Smiling, Charles lifts his face to the water, about to open his mouth to drink from the shower spray, but Ares moves, wrapping a hand around Charles’ hip and pulls him closer. Ares’ mouth covers Charles’, tongue diving inside, as he tugs Charles onto his lap, lifting Charles’ knees to slide in alongside his thighs. Charles’ fingers find that softer spot just below the turian’s crest and opens his mouth wider to Ares, letting him taste himself on Charles’ tongue. A whimper tears through Charles’ chest, filling Ares’ mouth as the man’s hand wraps around his cock, stroking. His body desperate for the attention, and seeing no need to hold back, Charles loses himself in the sensation, needing only a few seconds before he finds his release and hot, sticky cum pours over Ares’ hand and himself. Ares slows to a stop, purring against his mouth.

Breathless, his body still letting out the occasional twitch, he melts against Ares while he gathers himself. Wrapping both of his arms around the turian’s neck, he tucks his face in against the scarred, warm hide just under Ares’ chin and jaw. Ares’ hands press into his back, and Charles hums, letting out a low purr of a sigh.

“You always seem interested in them…. Why?” Ares shifts his head enough to rub his chin on the top of Charles’ head, mandibles tickling as they flutter.

It takes Charles a few seconds to understand what Ares means, but when he does, he turns his head a little, softly brushing his lips over the scarred flesh. “Because … they … they look how I feel, on the inside, and it makes me feel not so alone.”

Ares doesn’t speak as he tightens his arms around Charles, rubbing his chin over Charles’ short hair. He seems to relax but lets the silence envelop them, the only sound the patter of the shower spray.

* * *

 

The time spent with Ares after the last kill worked wonders to ease some of the tension Charles felt coiled up inside of him since watching the light go out of his father’s eyes last night. He still feels a jittery excitement as Ares leads them on to the next target, but it isn’t consuming, doesn’t leave him feeling like a live wire. And whatever doubts he might’ve had before, are well and truly gone now. His father’s voice silenced in the back of his head, at least for now.

He might be insane, but he’s okay with it, and so is Ares. Nothing else matters.

Clean once again, stomach digesting its five star breakfast of dried cereal and beef jerky, Charles stifles a yawn, grateful for the few hours of sleep he got the night before. After leaving the gym, Ares insisted they go somewhere for Charles to rest, claiming he wanted to wait until day to hunt the next target anyway. After pointing out an abandoned house, condemned but safe enough for the night, Charles climbed in through one of the back windows, letting Ares inside through the door. There were other places around that would’ve worked, too, but Charles learned the worse a place looked, the less likely anyone was going to care enough to call the police if they heard anyone moving around inside.

Charles wonders if Ares’ wanting to wait until day to hunt is a lie, Ares really just wanting him to sleep, but he isn’t going to complain. He just wishes the stubborn turian got some sleep, too. Charles offered to take a shift keeping watch while he rested, but Ares insisted he didn’t need it. As he follows Ares to the back side of a building, Charles watches as Ares stops next to a maintenance ladder starting a couple of meters up the wall, glancing up.

Charles comes to a stop just under the ladder, figuring Ares wants him to climb. Bending his knees, just about to jump, Ares’ stops him, hands around his waist. Lifting him easily, Ares pushes him up to within hands reach of the ladder, and he grabs on, starting to climb. About halfway up, he glances down, seeing Ares right behind him. He climbs the rest of the way up, throwing his leg over the lip of the roof and pulls himself over. Taking a few steps back, he waits for Ares to crest the top, holding out a hand to the turian when he does. Ares takes his hand, stepping easily over the lip of the wall.

Charles shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing around while Ares does the same. “I’m guessing there isn’t anyone up here … so …. What now?”

Ares walks towards the opposite side of the roof and motions to Shanxi’s courthouse. “Our target is having a bail hearing. Now we wait until he comes out.”

Charles nods, looking down at the courthouse and squinting. “Yeah … my eyesight’s just not that good.” He glances up, grinning at Ares. “Guess I’ll just have to trust you to spot our guy.”

Ares’ mandibles flutter softly, and he lifts a brow ridge. “Or I can give you the scope off my rifle.”

Charles shrugs. “Sure, that’ll work.”

Ares steps away from the edge of the roof and sits on the industrial air conditioner shafts winding across the roof in twists and turns, Charles joining him in silence. Lifting his hand up and under his jacket, Ares pulls off his collapsed rifle and sets it on his lap. He runs his hand, almost reverently, over the scuffed and dented surface when it expands, tilting his head as his eyes run over the apparently sentimental weapon.

“This thing saved my life,” Ares says, voice carrying a hint of gratefulness.

Charles lifts his gaze from the weapon to Ares. “I don’t have to use the scope ….”

Ares huffs, the sound lacking humor and flat, and shakes his head, glancing at Charles. “I didn’t say the scope did. It’s a new scope, not the original, so it doesn’t hold any real importance.”

Charles smirks, pulling one of his feet up to rest on the edge of the vent. “You could’ve just let me think I’m special for a few seconds.” He waves his hand at the scope. “Let me see it, then.”

Ares chuckles and turns to him. “You’re pretty damn special after last night.” Turning to his weapon, Ares begins to loosen the fastenings holding the scope to his banged up rifle, and Charles’ smirk shifts into a huge grin, heat creeping along his cheeks—he’s never felt special to anyone. “I wanted to take you after that, but we were on a time limit.” With the removed scope in hand, Ares holds it in his palm, offering it to Charles.

“Mmm. Fucking time limits.” Charles takes the scope, looking it over a moment, checking out the dials before holding it to his eye. He pushes off the vent, moving back to where he can see the courthouse and fiddles with the dials, turning them until the images of people milling about down below sharpen, coming into focus. “Plan on telling me which one we’re here for?”

“Name’s Frederick Wales.”

Charles lowers the scope and turns to look over his shoulder at Ares, watching him as he scrapes a talon at something along the surface of the side of the rifle in his lap. “I don’t know their names.” He crosses back over to the vent and sits down next to Ares. “Do you have a picture you can show me?” He assumes he must, in the dossiers he mentioned, but Charles never did decide to look at them himself.

Shifting his rifle on his lap to free his hands, Ares begins to flick through his omni-tool. “You’ll know him by a spider web tattoo on his head.”  

Images flash before Charles’ eyes, not even needing to see the picture. “I remember.”

Ares hums when his hand stills and holds his omni-tool out for Charles to see the photograph. Charles leans over, glancing at the man in the picture, spider web tattoo prominent on his bald head, long, brown and red goatee hanging from his chin. Frederick Wales. Charles burns the name into his mind, studying the man’s face. This one will die slow. Charles will make sure of it.

He closes his eyes, leaning back and lifting his face to the sun. Frederick had been the most violent of the bunch, he took a particular delight in making Sarah scream as he raped her. If she stopped, if her screams died down to whimpers, he’d backhand her, making her scream again. Whereas the others were more interested in beating her into submission, this man just wanted to beat her, wanted her terrified and in pain. Yeah, his death will last.

Opening his eyes again, he glances at Ares. “I want to take my time with this one.”

“Very well.” Ares gives him a quick nod. “It’s your kill. I’m not one to get in anyone’s way.”

“Thanks,” Charles says, shifting a little further back on the vent. He brings the scope to his eye, but he isn’t able to see the courthouse from where he sits. “I’m going to have to move closer, I can’t see from here.” Pushing back down from the vent, he glances around the roof, spotting a crate near the edge he thinks he might be able to lean against that will help hide him from sight. He makes his way over, sliding down along the crate until his ass hits solid ground, half hidden behind the low wall enclosing the roof and lifts the scope to his eye again, adjusting the dials.


	6. Frederick Wales

Ares can tell Charles had no idea just what waiting for this Frederick human to exit the courthouse would be like. Ares could spend days in a perch, eye to his scope, and body starting to ache from staying in one position, but he could tell the human might have developed false expectations. From where, Ares can only guess, but he supposes the vids are to blame. In reality, nothing ever turns out like the movies where everything changes according to plot. He has taken to crouching behind a shaft for the ducts littering the roof that is closer to the edge, but he mostly does it to keep watch when Charles apparently needs to move. As he often does, pacing and stretching out muscles that probably cramped up from staying in a position the man isn’t used to maintaining for long periods. Even the scent Charles gives off is getting heavy and heated as restlessness morphed first into agitation, then anger. It’s why Ares just resolves to keep watch permanently, in case Charles can no longer focus.

Watching Charles get up again and begin to pace from the corner of his eye, his breath coming out in the occasional huff of irritation, Ares is starting to feel his own muscles twitch in frustration. He sighs and scans the crowd gathering along the steps of the courthouse before finally looking to Charles long enough to grip the man’s wrist when he paces close enough and stops him to offer advice. “Charles, you need to relax.”

He looks down at Ares and sighs, nodding his head before taking back his position by the crate. “Just tell me I didn’t miss him.” He puts his eye back to the scope, looking down over the courthouse.

Ares hums in consideration of that possibility, certain that he wouldn’t have missed the target, but not so sure about Charles. He is starting to regret loosening the reins enough to give Charles better control of his search for justice, but if they missed the target, they’ll find him again. Ares still has more information on the man’s day to day routine. Still, he figures he might as well test Charles’ ability to spot specific targets and maybe distract him.

“I’ll keep watch, but,” he starts, eyes flicking over the crowd turned into faceless blurs of color with him solely focused on finding Frederick. Letting the whole image become clearer again, he picks out a female human who seems to blend in with the crowd except for the tiniest detail on her outfit. “But I’ll keep you from getting restless again with a test.” Ares doesn’t need to glance towards Charles to know the man’s temper is whittling away just by the huff that comes from his side of the roof. “Find the woman with the brooch in the shape of a flower on her jacket.”

Charles is quiet for a long period, and Ares can see the man in his peripheral, scanning the crowd with the scope, head moving in one direction before doubling back. Ares lets his attention keep the woman in focus, letting everyone else below return to blurry spots of color, and looks to the courthouse doors. He hears the soft shuffling of Charles’ clothes, and his shifting around stills after a moment. Ares rumbles, sure the man’s found his own test human.

“She’s walking up the steps, talking to another woman with blonde hair. She’s holding a small bag, maybe a briefcase?” Charles seems to ask himself, trying to sate some curiosity over the purpose of whatever the hell type of bag she’s holding. Ares doesn’t really care, but he admits Charles found his target faster than he expected from someone without experience. It seems that rage can strengthen someone’s focus.

“Good.” Ares catches Charles’ sights begin to rove over the crowd, intense stare no longer aimed solely at the courthouse doors. Ares sees no problem in it, thinking it might even help the man zero onto Frederick in a crowd of the colorful fog. It would be interesting to see if that tactic worked for anyone besides himself, or if he was just different—like with almost every other damn thing.

After a moment, sounding far more calm, almost as if he enjoys the game, Charles says, “Give me another one.”

Ares lets the blur of colors reform into individual people and quickly scans the crowd, picking out another target. “The man carrying yesterday’s paper.”  

He turns his attention back towards the courthouse again, cataloguing the large group exiting. People entering or leaving the building seem to run in a pattern of activity and stillness, and Ares has a suspicion it has to do with the closing and opening of court cases. It is only a matter of time before Frederick has his hearing and then walks out those very doors.

A minute and a half later, Charles hums to himself. “Wearing a blue suit, over by—”

The next words out of Charles’ mouth turn into static as Ares sees their target exiting the courthouse, all but skipping down the steps as he moves to stand before—as the files says—his lawyer, and he throws his arms out, a grin on his face. The hearing was destined to be in Frederick’s favor, Ares deduced that long ago while he read the dossier on the man during their trip on the _SSV Atlanta_.  

“Ares?”

“We need to move,” Ares says quickly, answering the question in a way. Standing, he motions for Charles to follow with a quick wave of his hand and heads to the ladder that’ll take them down. “I’ll go down first so you don’t break something dropping down from that height down there.”

Charles snorts at his words but doesn’t argue as he climbs onto the ladder, moving hands and feet to the outside of the ladder before sliding down quickly. He pushes off the wall just as he reaches the cut off of the ladder and lands with a heavy thud, looking up in wait for Charles as he stands close enough to catch the man if need be. Last thing they need is Charles to hobble himself when they need to keep close to their target. Charles is already half over the ledge, one foot on the first rung as he swings the other leg over. He doesn’t waste any time, legs long enough to easily skip every other rung as she scurries down the ladder. Ares doesn’t need to worry about offering a buffer for him to fall, jumping before Ares expects him to, the man takes care of himself as he twists his body and appears to know to bend his knees when he lands.

When Charles nods the go ahead, Ares doesn’t slow his stride as he moves, rounding the building and quickly looking over the top of the crowd for Frederick. He easily spots the man, his height above the comparatively small humans giving him a perfect view. He motions for Charles to follow, not sure if he can see through the crowd, and not wanting to run the risk of letting the man lead. Sure, Ares will stand back and only step in when he feels needed once they corner the man because he wants Charles to have this, but he needs to be up front in tailing this man or they could lose him. He isn’t really looking forward to having to spend more time to hunt Frederick down again on his usual routine, when they can cut down on how long they have to stay on Shanix, bringing attention to Ares and Charles by making the kill now.

As the target clears the crowd, he and his lawyer shake each other’s hands, Frederick seemingly unable to express his emotions without grinning and jerking the other man’s arm with a rough shaking. They only seem to shake for a few moments before the lawyer obviously weasels his way out of it, the only thing missing in his reaction is a distasteful brush of of his hand against his suit. When the two finally part, the lawyer seems to speed up his step as Frederick smirks at the man’s back. Turning his own way, Frederick begins to walk, hands in his pockets and—Ares assumes by the look—a ‘pep to his step.’ If getting out of robbing a man at gunpoint makes the man so jovial, Ares is pretty sure what Charles plans to do with him will be ironic as the positions flip.

Ares still can’t forget how uncomfortable his pants got when he saw Charles kill the man last night. It was so fucking arousing that it was painful, filling him with a hunger he struggled to contain long enough for them to leave the scene.

Cutting through the last vestiges of humans mingling around the large courtyard, Ares—with Charles behind him, hand wrapped loosely around a handful of Ares’ jacket—crosses the street to walk down the opposite sidewalk from Frederick, head swiveling around as Frederick takes in the sights as if he has never been there. Judging from the dossier Ares has, he highly doubts this man doesn’t know this particular path to his home by memory. At least his distraction gives Ares and Charles perfect opportunity to walk on the relatively open sidewalk at the man’s eight o’clock position. As their path begins to lead into a series of apartment complexes, Ares calls on his memory of the location Frederick lives, a small apartment home with only two other neighbors. At this time of the day, there is little possibility the workaholic woman downstairs or the male nurse that shares the floor with Frederick will be home because they work the day shift.

 

Charles’ voice is low but still within Ares’ hearing when the man speaks from Ares’ side, “Still have your handcuffs on you?”

Ares nods, turning his head to address Charles’ question without taking his eyes off of their target. “Always.”

“Good.” Charles says, his jaw tightening. “I want him to know what it’s like being pinned down, unable to fight back.”

Humming, Ares flicks his mandibles, watching Frederick take a right, still not seeing Ares and Charles tailing him on his left. “If you need extra weight, let me know.”

“I’m kinda counting on it.” Charles moves a little closer. “I’m not exactly a big guy.”

Ares sets his hand on Charles’ shoulder as he rumbles in amusement, and they take the street on the left to return to Frederick’s six. “Just didn’t want to—what is it—‘step on your toes.’”

Charles snorts softly. “So long as I get to cut him up nice and slow, I don’t really care what you do to him.”

Ares smirks and leans down to twitch his mandibles on Charles’ head, knowing it makes the man’s skin prickle. Charles hums, lifting his head into the gesture and wraps a hand around Ares’ waist. Ares snorts and gently takes the hand off him. “Any more of that and we’ll lose our target. I don’t want that to happen.”

Charles grins, tilting his head back to meet Ares’ gaze and winks. “Definitely can’t have that.”

Ares hums in amusement, lifting a brow plate before glancing up to look down the street, past their target. Further down the street, he spots the small apartment home and tilts his chin in its direction. “That’s our destination. With the light blue door.”

Charles studies the apartment, nodding his head once before looking back up at Ares. That being a good enough signal of Charles’ readiness, Ares gives a hand signal to move forward, sure the man understands the turian military gesture well enough when he sticks to Ares’ back as they move. Keeping close to the shadows thrown across the pavement and grassy yards, Ares leads to show Charles the best way to keep hidden, despite it being the middle of the day. He and Charles drop behind a convenient hedge wall, obviously taking the place of an actual fence for the house two down from their target’s. Why people love the dense plants for decoration, Ares will never know, but he will admit it’s not just a human oddity, having seen it frequently in front of all manner of homes when he hunts planetside. The only use he can think of is how they’re using it now, so the ugly square shaped plants do have at least one use for him.

Ares focuses his hearing for the unlocking and activation of the door’s entrance console much like he did with Charles’ father, Roger. Just like the old—and dead—bastard, Frederick’s steps are easily tracked as he opens the door, scuffs his shoes on something for a moment, and steps into the apartment home. Ares glances around the hedge and watches Frederick already beginning to kick off his shoes before the door even manages to close behind him. When the man finally moves far enough for the door’s sensor to register no obstacles, Ares waves a hand to follow close as he quickly covers the distance between themselves and the now shut home.

“Do you want to handle the lock or have me do it?” He looks down to Charles with a raised brow, willing to let the man do it. Charles has proven himself in the matter of street smarts, but Ares doesn’t have any complaints one way or the other.

Charles glances around then gives a quick shake of his head. “I’d have to hack it manually, it’ll take longer. I feel too exposed. I’m used to doing this shit at night.”

Nodding in understanding as he opens his omni-tool’s interface, Ares quickly finds the program that cracks code easily. This being merely an apartment home and not a high security terminal full of valuable data, he knows it’ll be almost as if they have the keycode, only seeming out of place due to the fact of his species. When the lock flickers from red to green, Ares closes his tool and hits the activation.  

“He’s in the apartment to the left when we get to the top of the stairs,” Ares whispers, then holds out a hand to stop Charles from talking so he can listen for any indication of Frederick’s location. Tilting his head, he aims his better ear towards the murmur of sound he catches coming from upstairs. He takes a moment to be sure the man is in the apartment room to the left—his apartment—before nodding and glancing to Charles with a silent okay.

Ares steps lightly as he climbs the stairs, hearing Charles’ steps a bit, but he doesn’t really care. They’re so close and covering the only exit from the upper floor to the lower. Unless Frederik jumps out his window and slows himself down with an injury, Ares and Charles have the target cornered. As they arrive at the locked door, Ares presses his back to the wall, Charles at his side, and he glances to Charles.

Ares pitches his voice low and leans down slightly to speak softly enough not to be heard through the locked door and over whatever shuffling Frederick is making inside. “We need to move fast. He could have a weapon hidden in his home.”

Charles nods and, just as softly, says, “Just get him down for me. Cuff him to something.”

Ares smirks down to him. “Have I told you you’re an enabler for me?”

Charles grins. “I enjoy the show.”

Huffing a quiet laugh, Ares opens his tool again and activates the hacking program. With a wave of his hand across the door’s interface, the red console turns green. Before Frederick can notice the door open, Ares collapses his tool, rounds the corner of the door frame while dipping his hand into a pocket on his jacket for his cuffs, and charges Frederick. The man only has enough time to turn to the intrusion, his eyes full of a mix of fury and confusion before Ares straightens out his arm and slams it into the man’s neck, knocking him off of his feet with a loud thud and resulting coughing, gasping sputter. Frederick’s eyes widen as Ares leans down and wrenches his hand away from where he covers his throat in shock and pain. Ares lifts the man by the arm and snaps a cuff around his wrist tight enough to dig into the skin.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Frederick screams, spewing more obscenities and trying to kick out at Ares while attempting to claw his hand free. “You fucking skull faced freak!”

“You should really be more concerned with who the fuck I am,” Charles says, voice calm, almost teasing.

Ares snorts and drags the man, his toes scraping uselessly against the floor as Ares continues to hold him in the air. Ares turns, letting the man see Charles as he pushes his hood down and smiles, and then Ares growls when recognition doesn’t show on the man’s face. He gives the man a good jerk, making Frederick grunt at the cuff pressing painfully into the delicate bones of his human wrist.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?!” Desperation fills Frederick’s voice as he continues to struggle against Ares’ grip. “I don’t know you, you sonofabitch!” he shouts to Charles, giving him a look of distaste.

* * *

 

Charles makes a tsking sound, shaking his head. “I’m disappointed in you, _Freddy_. I thought for sure you’d recognize me. I mean, you did force your cock down my throat after raping my little sister.” Lifting his hoodie over his head, Charles takes his time to fold it before draping it over the back of a chair, fighting off a shudder at the memory of tasting his sister and her blood on the man. “Maybe you just need to see me looking up at you from my knees again, but that’s not going to happen.”

If Charles’ statement registers with the man, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he squirms in Ares grip, trying to get a foot up high enough to kick the turian. Charles makes another tsking sound.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. He’s liable to break your knee on principle.” Charles tugs up the hem of his shirt, intent on getting as little blood as he can on his clothes this time. He lifts it up over his stomach, sticking his elbows into the fabric, but just before he lifts it over his head, he meets Ares’ gaze and says, “Put him somewhere sitting down.” Pulling the shirt off over his head, he folds it, too, before laying it on top of his hoodie.

“You’re fucking crazy. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” The man’s voice is almost a whine as Ares begins dragging him over to a chair.

Charles snorts, shaking his head. “You sure about that?” Leaving Ares to cuff the man to the chair, he makes his way into the man’s bathroom, rifling through cabinets as he pulls down towels. Catching sight of a bottle of isopropyl alcohol, he grins and grabs that, too.

When he returns to the living room, Ares has Freddy in a chair, his wrists bound to the metal slats in the back. The man stares at Charles, a baleful look in his eyes. Ares stands behind him, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Charles. Smiling at the man again, Charles crosses the floor to set the towels and rubbing alcohol down on the table, pulling out his straight razor and setting it on top of the towels.

The man’s eyes widen. “Look, I don’t know who the hell you are, or what you want, but just tell me what you’re after, and I can get it for you.”

Charles reaches over, putting a hand down on the man’s shoulder, bringing his face a little closer to him. “I’m really glad to hear you say that, Freddy.” He doesn’t know why, but shortening the man’s name to ‘Freddy’ brings him a giddy sort of joy. Glancing back up at Ares, Charles straddles the man’s lap.

Freddy licks his lips. “So? What do you want?”

Charles picks up a towel spreading it out over his lap and across the man’s abdomen, covering his jeans, before adding a couple more layers. He glances up at the man while he works, a smile spreading across his face. “I want to hear you scream.”

The color drains from the man’s face, eyes widening as he shakes his head. “You don’t have to do this. I’m sorry, whatever it was, I’m sorry. You really don’t have to ….” The man trails off as Charles picks up his razor and opens it with a flick of his wrist, holding it up where Freddy can see.

Freddy bucks his hips, trying to toss Charles from his lap, but Charles locks his ankles behind the legs of the chair and frowns at the man. “Seriously? What good will that possibly do you?” He snorts when the man persists for a moment longer before giving up with a growl. Charles glances up at Ares and asks, “What was the other guy’s name?”

“Harvey Dechaine,” Ares says, a low rumble in his voice.

Christ, and he thought Charles was a stupid name, but Freddy and Harvey? Whatever the hell possessed half the population of Shanxi to think it was cute to give their kids ‘retro’ names is probably giggling in delight at the sheer level of stupidity.

Charles nods, turning his attention back to Freddy. “Harvey screamed real nice for me, but I think you can do better.” Leaning in, he puts his face next to the man’s ear and whispers, “I remember how much you like screaming.”

Grabbing the man by the chin, he leans back, showing Freddy the razor again before bringing it to his cheek. Digging the tip in a little, Charles grins when the man hisses, clenching his jaw closed, defiance sparking in his eyes. Skin parting with ease, giving way to fat and muscle, Charles drags the razor down the man’s face, taking his time watching the blood well up. A whimper rips through the man’s resolve, but he still doesn’t scream. Charles smiles, setting the razor down on his thigh for a moment. Freddy _will_ scream. Picking up the bottle of isopropyl, Charles cracks open the lid, wrinkling his nose against the sharp smell. He pushes the plastic opening against the man’s face, just above the cut, and Freddy starts to squirm, ripping his face free from Charles’ grip.

Ares grabs the man’s head, holding him still, and Charles beams up at the turian. Putting the bottle back again, Charles tilts it a little, letting the alcohol spill out and over the cut. The man growls, hissing in pain, but he keeps it locked down tight. That’s okay, Charles _will_ make Freddy scream. Many, many times before he’s through.

Setting the bottle back on the table, he picks up his razor but uses his thumb instead to press against the wound, digging his thumbnail into the open, weeping flesh. He grins when the man finally lets out a scream. Charles pats the man’s cheek and says, “See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it? You can do better though, I’m sure.”

Charles cuts another slow, deep slice into the man’s cheek, right next to the first, his smile growing as the man lets out another scream, struggling to pull his head away from the source of pain. Ares’ grip remains firm, though. Making a shorter, but just as deep cut across the bottom, connecting the two wounds, Charles works the edge of his razor beneath the strip of skin. He moves the razor back and forth a little, cutting upwards enough to get a flap started. The man’s scream turns into a howl of pain as Charles pins the flap against the blade with his thumb and rips upward, tearing the skin and bits of fat from his face.

Charles smiles at the man, offering him coos of encouragement. Letting the skin go, it hangs in a twisted curl where it remains attached at the top. Picking up the bottle of alcohol, Charles splashes a little on the freshly skinned wound. Freddy yells again, tears welling up in his eyes, and the sight, mixed with the smell of blood and the sound of Freddy’s screams, starts to make Charles hard.

“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry. I remember you, I do. I’m sorry. Stop, please stop,” Freddy begs, lips trembling.

Charles furrows his brow. “But we just got started.” Humming, he asks, “What was it you said to my sister when she begged you to stop?”

Freddy shakes his head, so Charles starts in on the other cheek, sending fresh streams of blood running down the man’s face, soaking in the sound of his screams and the fear in his eyes. Finishing the first cut, he has just started on the second when the man starts begging again. Charles ignores it, finishing the cut and making a third, connecting the two.

“I said …” the man starts to speak, so Charles stops with his razor ready to work its way under the flap of skin. “I said … scream for me.”

“Scream for me _what_?” Charles hisses through clenched teeth.

“I don’t remember,” Freddy says, blinking his eyes, trying hard to catch Charles’ gaze again. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay,” Charles says, his voice a soft whisper. “I’ll remind you.” He slices his razor under the skin, pinning down the flap and rips it upwards. Closing his eyes, he sucks in a deep breath, cock hardening a little more as the agonized screams quiet to whimpers and yelps. He opens his eyes again, meeting Freddy’s gaze. “You said, ‘Scream for me, whore.’”

Reaching between his legs, Charles adjusts himself so his pants aren’t biting into his growing erection. He smirks when Freddy’s gaze follows the movement, a true look of horror in his eyes. “Oh, no, don’t worry. I’m saving this for him,” Charles says, jerking his head toward Ares.

Ares rumbles, the sound a cross between amusement and arousal. Fluttering his mandibles, he cocks his head to the side. “If you want pain that won’t kill him, use your razor on his finger nails. Pry them off.”  

He grips the top of Freddy’s head in one hand and reaches down with the other to release one of his hands. As soon as he’s free, Freddy tries to take a swing at Charles, but Ares doesn’t so much as hesitate before the sound of the man’s wrist breaking echoes through the apartment. Freddy howls in pain as Ares tightens his grip on the broken wrist. Charles lets out a throaty hum, torn between wanting to fuck Ares and kill Freddy, as he watches Ares hold the man still, locking the empty cuff around a rung of the chair to keep him confined.

“Bad idea,” Ares growls into Freddy’s ear as he leans over to offer Charles the free—but badly damaged—hand.

Charles smiles at Ares, pulling the man’s hand toward the table. The man screams, still trying to tear his arm free—and really, who can blame him—as Charles forces it flat on the table.

“What an excellent idea,” Charles says, turning a little on the man’s lap to use his other arm to hold the man’s hand still.

“No. No, no, no.” Freddy’s voice is so filled with terror that Charles can practically taste it in the air. “Please, don’t. Please.”

Charles wedges the blade beneath the tip of the first nail, but when he attempts to pull back, the nail merely bends, snapping and tearing loose at the quick. Charles hums as he considers how to approach the task differently, the hiss and whimpers adding fuel to the fires burning in his chest. Cutting into the tender skin, he gets the razor in just a little deeper before the man jerks his arm, nearly ripping it free from Charles’ grasp. Ares huffs, pinning the man’s arm to the table at the elbow, holding it in place. Charles works his blade back under the nail, getting it in as far as he can and still leave something to pry, and then he pulls back, lifting the fingernail up off of the nail bed and tearing a deafening scream from the man.

Just for the hell of it, Charles decides to dump a little isopropyl on the finger, barking a laugh when the man yells again. “See, I knew you could do so much better than Harvey. Then again, I didn’t take as much time with Harvey.”

The man tries to speak, but the words just stutter and stumble in his mouth.

“Shhh,” Charles says. “There’s nothing else I need to hear from you besides your screams.”

Charles moves on to the next fingernail, having found a method that works, he wiggles the blade in beneath the nail and past the quick, cutting through the edges of the cuticle and the skin surrounding it in the process. Looking up, he meets Freddy’s terrified gaze before ripping the nail free. The sound the man makes is music to Charles’ ears … well maybe not his ears so much as his soul. Finger by finger, Charles finishes off the man’s hand, ripping each nail out with an almost orgasmic rush, each pained sound only encouraging him further.

He tears open Freddy’s shirt before closing his eyes, remembering the look on his sister’s face as Freddy ripped her open from the inside. Letting that rage build up inside of him, for the first time in eleven years, he turns it outward instead of inward, beginning to carve fresh lines into the man’s chest at a feverish pace, not allowing the man a reprieve between cuts. When Frederick’s screams become too hoarse to provide Charles much comfort, he grows bored. He isn’t sure how much time they’ve already spent in the apartment, probably far longer than was wise, even if Ares hasn’t complained yet.

Pushing himself up from the man’s lap, Charles rounds the chair, jerking his head to the side to get Ares to move. Ares rumbles, stepping aside, and Charles wraps a bloodsoaked hand around Freddy’s forehead, pulling his head back with no real resistance. Freddy’s eyes roll up, his gaze jerky and unfocused, lips moving in a silent plea. Charles doesn’t really care what Freddy has to say, he’s got what he came for. Reaching around the man’s neck with his other hand, Charles digs the razor into the carotid artery, letting the blood spray out over the room instead of himself.

Letting go of Freddy, Charles smirks as the man’s head lists forward, rolling limply on his neck. Charles makes his way to the bathroom, washing his hands and the few splatters of blood off his face and chest before running the razor under the water. A sort of mental exhaustion runs through him, not as devastating as the night before, but peaceful. The monster in the back of his head still growls and snarls, but it’s not a loud, consuming roar. His sister’s whimpers are once again silent, and there’s still no peep from his father.

There are a couple of spots of blood on his pants, but it’s nothing really noticeable or out of place with the way he’s dressed. Turning around to look at his back in the mirror, he checks down the back of his legs, too. Satisfied he won’t be walking out of the apartment drenched in blood this time, he makes his way back out to Ares and the dead man.

Picking up one of the clean towels, he dries his hands and the razor, glancing up at Ares. “I’m ready when you are, just let me grab my shirt.”

* * *

 

Ares makes sure the apartment and home are locked as he and Charles leave, using the back door instead of front in case anyone might be home for their lunches—he remembers something about Shanxi’s day cycle putting this time of day as the lunch hour in the average work day. Going to the back of the yard, Ares crouches low enough that the majority of his body is hidden behind a wooden fence while still allowing him to scan the backyard of the lot located behind Frederick’s apartment home. There is no sign of any movement within the home, save for a dog sleeping in the sun’s beams coming in through the glass backdoor.

Turning to Charles, he motions at the tall fence with a thumb. “Can you climb it?”

Charles eyes the fence for a moment and nods. “At a run, yeah, just tell me when.”

“Can you land quietly?” Ares raises an eyebrow plate. “Quietly enough not to alert the dog sleeping inside?”

Charles purses his lips a little, his gaze moving over the grassy surface surrounding this side of the fence. “Yeah, probably.”

Ares hums, that answer good enough. If they are heard, Ares can at least subdue the dog if it manages to get out of the house, or the owner, if they happen to be home and out of sight—which he doubts given the lack of the dog giving a shit. He’s pretty sure Charles would be upset if he just killed the animal.

Looking to where Charles has taken steps back to give himself enough ground to build speed, Ares sees the man dig into his bag in search of something. He’s about to question what can be so important when Charles pulls out one of the salty meat snacks, slightly similar to a turian dish that’s been soaked in oils, then dried in the sun. Sticking it between his teeth, Charles zips his pack and loops his arms back into the straps. Ares shifts his mandibles in bewilderment at what the fuck the meat has to do with jumping, but he watches Charles as he pops his neck and looks to him for the signal to move. Ares figures he’ll just have to wait for the answer to the weird meat thing and steps aside, giving a jerk of his head in direction.

Charles grins around the piece of meat in his mouth and takes off running, just before reaching the fence, he bends his knees and leaps, hands wrapping over the top of the fence and hauling himself up in one fluid motion. He stops with his arms extended, bringing a foot up to the top of the fence and uses it to push himself over. Ares hears the soft thud of his feet hitting the grass on the other side.

Only, Charles’ landing seems to have agitated some other dog—a really loud one with a high pitched howl—and Ares hears Charles curse the dog by calling it a ‘fucking cat.’ Whatever the fuck a ‘cat’ is doesn’t matter as Ares immediately hears the other dog making a much more familiar sound, a bark, Ares reminds himself. Swearing an old word his grandmother used for lamenting about shitty luck, Ares steps back before vaulting over the fence, landing hard because there is no use being quiet thanks to that damn … cat. Ares growls just as he lands, ready to strike when he finds that he seems to have jumped into a situation very much handled without him.

“Who’s a good boy?” Charles says in a very strange coo, leaning down to pet the dog from the house on the head.  

The beast chews on something, and Ares can only figure it’s the meat Charles had, and it’s tail wags furiously. Ares’ mandibles twitch in stunned confusion as he looks at the sight, his head slowly pulling back in his cowl as he stares at it. Whatever the fuck just happened seems far beyond his own imagination at this moment, but Charles seems to be handling the development well. Finally yanking his eyes away from the odd scene before him, he looks for the other dog—cat—and catches a golden colored shape in the nearby tree. The _cat_ hunches its back and actually _hisses_ at Ares in the first thing that makes any damn sense around here, he growls in his throat but stops there.  

He’s definitely sure Charles would be upset if he killed the cat.

At the sound of footsteps in the grass, he watches Charles come to his side and … hiss at the cat. It only makes sense for _that_ to happen because, sure, why not? If Charles has cracked, Ares will definitely be left questioning his idea to come here. He’d much rather have a human around than a dog-cat hybrid … something. Ares is no good at pet care, so this, whatever they have between them, would be bound to get very confusing. He pulls his mandibles in tight and looks between Charles, the now empty tree, the blur of gold jumping off the far branch and out of sight behind the neighbor’s fence, then down to the dog with its constantly jerking tail, hanging tongue, and soft, needy-sounding yips.

Still completely lost at what the hell just happened around him, Ares watches as Charles drops his eyes to the dog, grins wide with teeth showing, and reaches into his bag once more. When he brings out another of those damn pieces of meat, Ares lifts an eyebrow plate at the man which only gets seen when Charles stands back up.  

Smile fading into confusion, Charles raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“Wondering if you’re broken now.”

Charles snorts. “This is probably the most normal, human thing you’ve ever seen me do.”

Ares twitches the corner of his upper mouth plate and steps away from the slobbering dog as it practically sucks down the food. “You really _like_ that thing?” he says, pointing down to the hairy beast.

“Dogs have been called ‘man’s best friend’ for ages.” Charles shrugs. “I actually kinda like cats, too. Just not _that_ cat. That cat is a dick.” Scratching behind the dog’s ears, Charles leans down, putting his face right next to the beast and coos again. “But not you, you’re a good boy, aren’t you?” He chuckles, turning his face as the dog’s tongue darts out of its mouth, lapping at Charles’ cheek, and Ares reminds himself not to touch that cheek until Charles bathes. Glancing back up at Ares, he says, “We should get going before this guy starts begging again. I don’t have much left.”

“Good,” Ares agrees, relief lining his vocals as he heads towards the side gate of the fence. Approaching the gate, he checks the street before nodding and lifting the latch. He motions Charles to go first, staring at the dog to make it stay and rumbling low. He follows the man out and quickly shuts the gate before the damn thing can squeeze out, a dog attached to Charles being the last thing they need on a hunt. Ares likes a challenge, but he also doesn’t like having another mouth that needs to be fed or thing that needs to learn how to _not_ be so obvious in a crowd, and judging by Charles’ and every other humans’ reaction to dogs, the beast is the worst way to stay under the radar. Reaching over the fence, he closes the latch, seeing the dog whine and start to pace the short distance of the side fence. He ignores the sound and follows Charles back out to the street.

Charles sticks his lower lip out, mouth turning down at the corners as he watches the dog through the slats of wood. Tuning his attention back to Ares, he asks, “What’s next?”

Ares reaches into his pockets, one hand finding his lighter and the other his pack of cigarettes. He holds the lighter with his second finger, pressing it to his palm to free his other fingers, and flicks open the box to fetch out one of the black cigarettes. He puts it to his mouth and pockets the box, glancing down to Charles as he pulls out one of his strange smelling cigarettes. Before lighting his own though, Ares opens his lighter and jerks his thumb against the wheel, holding it further from his face, still not quite able to make the usual wince stop. He thrums around his cigarette and holds the flame up for Charles to light his own, flicking his unscarred mandible when the man smiles, leaning closer to cup Ares’ hand as he lights up. When released, Ares holds the flame to his own cigarette before flicking the lid closed to suffocate the fire before sliding it back into his pocket.  

He takes in that long, first and best drag before humming. The smoke drifts from between his mouth plates as he talks. “We need to relax, or do something, for the next few hours. Our next two targets won’t be alone until the work day is complete.”

Charles hums, looking out over the streets around them. “We can always find another building to squat in, or … there’s a park not far from here if I remember right. There’ll be kids playing at one end, but the other end used to be pretty secluded, lots of trees and a pond.”

Letting his next drag settle against his tongue for a moment, Ares lets a memory swim through his mind at the description of the human park. He blows it out just before giving voice to one of the few good memories he still has, one that doesn’t yet have a bittersweetness laced within the images. “I used to climb trees back home. Broke my arm falling out of one.”

Charles grins, taking a drag from his cigarette. He jerks his head a little and starts walking. “Let’s check it out.”

“Lead the way, then.” Ares knows the route, the street layouts of the more focused areas where their targets frequent, but he won’t deny the fact that he wants Charles to be able to look at Shanxi and see at least _some_ kind of normalcy, have some places that aren’t stained with blood.

Turning to walk backwards, Charles smirks. “Just do me a favor and don’t break your arm this time?”

Ares chuckles around his drag, blowing it out before saying, “I’m probably taller than most trees now, so I’d have to be in the sky to break anything falling.”

Charles makes a rude, teasing noise, blowing spit all over the fucking place. “I should take you to visit some of the forests on Earth someday.”

Snorting, Ares pauses before inhaling a new breath of smoke. “You act like there aren’t tall trees on Palaven. We don’t live in one giant desert, you know.”

“Never said you did, but I can’t speak for Palaven … never been there.” He glances at his arm where he’s pushed up his sleeves. “Pretty sure I’d fry to a crisp in seconds with my complexion.”

Ares shrugs, saying, “I’d get you a radiation suit if you actually wanted to go.”

Charles slows his pace a little, tilting his head to the side. “You wanna take me there?”

“Doesn’t matter what I _want_. I just said ‘if you actually wanted to go.’” Ares rumbles before putting his cigarette to his mouth again.

Charles takes a drag, blowing it back out again before saying, “I didn’t think … I mean, I figured Palaven wasn’t a place you’d want to go back to.”

While true, Ares can’t deny there’s still a weak, whining voice deep down that wants to at least _see_ his home again. Even if he never actually manages to find a way to get close to his physical birthplace and childhood home, Palaven is still sung in the back of his mind by the part of him still trembling from shock and pain. No matter how many times he screams—internally and vocally—for that little, pathetic version of himself to shut the fuck up, it will never stay silent for long before it returns at full force.

Taking his time to take a drag, hold it, then exhale it slowly into the actual, real air of Shanxi, Ares shrugs. “The idea has crossed my mind on a few occasions.”

Charles hums as he takes a drag of his cigarette. “I’d love to see Palaven. But … hell.” He stops walking, turning to step into Ares path, forcing him to stop, too, as Charles looks up at him. “Ares … I’ll follow you anywhere.” Charles shakes his head a little, glancing down at his shoes. “You’ve got to realize that, right?”

Ares flutters his mandibles in consideration over that obviously very important decision on Charles’ part. No one has really followed Ares in, well, ever. He was always the subordinate, always following orders, or alone with no one to lead anyways. He followed many leaders, many superior officers and their commands, and he knows where it got him. It makes him wonder if Charles really understands what following someone means, letting their decisions influence your own. Tilting his head, he flicks his eyes over Charles’ face and tries to see understanding, just a hint of hesitation over his sudden proclamation.

He can’t seem to find any.

“You….” Ares swallows, pulling in his mandibles in discomfort. “What if it goes wrong?”

Charles’ brow furrows, and he takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders a little. “The way I see it … you’re the only thing in my life that’s gone _right_ so far.”

Eyes widening and mandibles flaring in shock, Ares works his mouth open and closed, but no words make it to his voice. He starts to see Charles fidget, expression faltering just slightly, and Ares immediately snaps his mandibles to his jaw with an audible click. Stepping closer to Charles, Ares lowers his head and presses his forehead to Charles’, only remembering the gesture between his parents, but hoping it fits with his own connection to the man before him. He thinks Charles understands well enough when he feels the man’s small hand curl against the back of his neck, settling beneath his crest, and Charles pushes into the gesture. Ares purrs and closes his eyes, shifting his head to rub his forehead to Charles’ softly.  

Charles hums in return, fingers caressing that sensitive patch of smoother hide beneath Ares’ crest. When Ares begins to slowly pull away, the man’s grip tightens, and Ares soon feels Charles’ lips against his mouth plates. Amused at the image the two of them must make in a near entirely human populated colony, Ares huffs slightly against Charles’ mouth but presses back and opens his mouth enough to lap the tip of his tongue against Charles’ lips. Smiling against Ares’ mouth, Charles does the same, tongue tracing the curve of Ares’ upper mouth plate.

“Just don’t … don’t dump me on the Citadel and disappear on me … not after bringing me here. I know you can’t stick by my side always, but ….” There’s a pleading quality to Charles’ voice, and Ares knows it costs Charles something to say.

Rumbling and voice low, Ares shifts his head to rub his mandible to Charles’ cheek. “But?”

The next part of Charles’ statement comes as a whisper, “But … I don’t really want to be away from you.”

Ares’ vocals shift, taking on a regretful tone. He has to work, but he won’t deny looking forward to time on the Citadel, feeling relief at finally having someone to trust. If he didn’t take contracts, Ares has no idea what he’d do with his life. He just doesn’t want to quit, either. He enjoys taking some poor bastard’s life with his hands, or watching their head explode in the scope of his rifle.

“What if I gave you something to help while I’m away on a hunt?” he asks, looking into Charles’ eyes.

Charles’ brow twitches inward, something painful flashing briefly through his eyes. “I just need you to tell me you’ll keep coming back …. Maybe take me with you sometimes ….”

Ares pauses at that idea. Sure, it’ll take either leaving Charles behind while he makes the kill or—a lot—of training, but there isn’t any reason why he can’t take the man. Charles has already proven to be able to sleep in the kinds of places Ares frequently uses to get some rest, or eat when he can’t on the job itself. There will still be quite a few he won’t take Charles on because he knows his speciality doesn’t usually leave room in the contracts for a second—especially someone who doesn’t have complete understanding of freelancing under their belt like Charles—but he can offer at least one sure thing.

Nodding, Ares leans up to relax his back and flicks a mandible, smirking. “If I don’t, you can expect to hear from me. I’ll even use my comm more than I post on _‘Assassins Unveiled,’_ and you know how quick I am to give people shit on there.”

“Thank you.” Charles smiles, it’s clear the answer isn’t exactly what the man hoped for, but he seems content. “So, just out of curiosity, what did I just pass up on you giving me?”

Ares huffs in amusement and points his thumb over his shoulder. “I can take that dog if you want it.”

Charles’ eyes light up, and he bites his lower lip. “He belongs to someone else.”

Ares mulls it over, mandibles twitching as he thinks. “I could get you another one, but would you like it as much?”

Charles seems to think about that for a minute, gaze shifting back to the fence. After a moment he nods and says, “Yeah. Yeah I would. Besides, if we take that one, every time I look at him I’ll think I just ruined some little kid’s day in the worst kind of way.”

Ares nods, not understanding the importance of animals to humans—or any species, now that he considers it—but willing to take note of Charles’ reaction to the idea of Ares getting him a dog. Waiting until Charles looks back from the fence, Ares motions with his hand. “You said something about a park?”


	7. Cole and James

If all human parks are designed the same way as the one Charles guides Ares to, then Ares can finally see something familiar to his own people. As regulated and uniform as the turians are, there are still plenty of parks full of trees to shade visitors from the bright sun and flowers of all colors spattered about the silvery green grass. His people know relaxation is necessary to maintain their duties in a strict, orderly manner without falling off the edge of sanity. With so many species unable to travel to Palaven just for pleasure, turians aren’t often associated with trivial things like parks and the concept of letting go of constant service in order to be an individual, to actually live. Even Ares, always working or training, knows the benefits and even spends a good amount of his life resting in the sun and listening to the sounds of innocent happiness.

The colors aren’t quite the same and the scents of the grass and flowers tickle his nose, but Ares still finds himself relishing the breaks in the trees where sun touches his plates. Following Charles towards a body of water surrounded by the occasional tree, Ares catches the families resting in the cooler shade as they watch a gathering of some kind of animal, only differing in size and colors. Children run over the expanses of green grass, their—apparent—parents calling out as the young humans roughhouse or chase one another. Some other families have moved closer to the pond to throw something into the water for the animals to float or run over to in order to eat.

If everyone were turian, Ares could have been fooled into believing he were on Palaven once again.

He keeps his head down when Charles’ direction leads them past a too close human. Ares knows he’s unwelcome, that his very presence has upset at least some of the humans relaxing about, but he finds the idea more irritating than an unreachable itch. The pressure on his back from stares and sounds of murmurs follows him, annoying him with their apparent shock—even anger—at seeing another species, though he knows it’s really because of his species in particular more than anything else.  

When he had just begun to heal from his burns, when he was alone in his suffering, he would let the stares and whispers bother him. He was so used to being ‘normal looking’ and one piece of the whole that the sudden, negative attention made his injuries sting from a new kind of flame. It took him a long time to get over the idea of being one of everyone else and every second of that transition was agony, but—after a few kills that shut up targets that thought insulting their killer would somehow save their live—he eventually became used to his new face, his new body, and the stares and sneers soon became nothing more than an annoyance. Most of the time he wears prosthetic plates just to be able to walk around in peace, blending in once more with the crowd, but like hell if it’s really helping him here on a such a human heavy colony.

Charles leads them to the other side of the pond and onto a side of the park that seems less occupied. Ares assumes the lack of visitors, beyond the few jogging passerbys following the winding path through the massive park, lies in the fact that this side seems less geared towards the children, the grass only interrupted by a bench or small collection of wooden tables with their seating built into them. The other side of the pond is full of large, colorful, structures the children seem to flock towards in order to climb and hang off of. Here, Ares and Charles are left to relax without feeling so much like outsiders. After Charles slows and looks to Ares with a smile on his face and an expression that seems to ask for approval of the spot he has chosen, Ares finally lets himself turn his head to scan the area, having kept it mostly still while around the obnoxiously nosy humans.

Rumbling, Ares nods and returns his eyes to Charles. “It meets expectations.”

Charles huffs, pulling his pack of cigarettes out and glances around. Shaking the pack against his palm, he tugs out a cigarette and sticks it between his lips. Trading the pack out for his lighter, he cups his hand around the flame when he lights his cigarette. “We can always go somewhere else if we get bored.”

Ares lets his eyes drift to the other side of the pond. “So long as we stick to this side.”

Charles takes a deep drag from his cigarette, glancing around again before fixing his gaze on a tree overhanging one of the tables. Without warning, the man runs, jumping up to kick off the table and flings himself at the tree. Catching one of the lower branches, he pulls himself up, weaving his legs through the tree, and then lets his upper body fall, dangling upside down as he smokes. He grins at Ares. “You going to catch me if I fall?”

Ares snorts. “More like I’ll laugh my ass off.”

Charles’ grin widens, and he starts a swaying motion, swinging his body back and forth as he looks out over the water. Pointing at one of the small animals that seem so attracted to the water, he says, “You should catch me a duck. It’d make an excellent dinner.”

Ares narrows his eyes, asking, “And how do you plan to cook it? Most humans can’t eat things raw.”

Charles shrugs, the gesture odd with him upside down. “I can build a fire.”

“And you want me to chase an animal that can float on something that will kill me if it’s too deep or I fall.”

“They can fly, too.” Charles snorts, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I won’t let you drown.”

“I’m not chasing a target I won’t be able to catch … and I don’t want to attract attention to myself even more than I already did.” Ares crosses his arms.

Charles laughs, flipping himself down out of the tree and landing in a crouch, one palm pressed to the ground. Turning a little, he picks a deep purple flower growing around the base of the tree and stands, walking over to Ares. “You’re no fun.” He takes another drag from his cigarette, knocking the ashes off before holding the glowing, charred end to the petals of the flower. As he drags it along, barely making contact with the surface, the color of the petal changes from purple to green wherever the cigarette touches. After doing the same to each one, he grins, holding it out to Ares.

Ares lifts a brow plate. “And what do you expect me to do with that?”

Charles snorts and grins. “When the guy you’re fucking gives you a flower, you take it and say ‘thank you’ … even if you are a turian and the concept is completely lost on you.”

Taking the flower between the tips of his fingers so as not to ruin it, Ares looks at it before glancing to Charles. “Thank you? Turians give flowers, but usually children fascinated with the colors.”

Charles narrows his eyes. “You don’t have to be a child to think the colors are pretty.”

Ares hums as he brings the flower closer, shifting his nose plates to take in the scent. It makes his nasal passages itch and he sneezes, vocals trilling loud in discomfort. Charles laughs, and Ares grumbles in irritation before turning away from the man and walking out towards the sunny grass on the bank of the pond where he can see small fish swimming around the edge of the water and scattering when the ‘ducks’ float by. Ares watches the silvery, yet smooth bodied, fish a moment before he sits down, leaning back on a hand to let the warmth touch his facial plates.

Charles’ soft footsteps in the grass alert Ares to his approach. A moment later, his backpack hits the grass, and the man folds his legs under him as he sits. Leaning over, he gently tugs the flower from Ares’ grasp. “You don’t have to keep it,” he says, twirling it in his fingers before bringing his lit cigarette back to the petals again.

“Don’t,” Ares orders, voice flat as he stares at the petals as they shift colors, and he tries to swallow down the whispers of panic in his mind. “You’ll burn it.”

Charles glances back up at Ares, blinking, mouth slightly open. He stops, pulling the cigarette away from the flower. Ares can tell there’s something Charles is about to say, but he stops, closing his mouth and turns his attention back to the water. Setting the flower down in the grass between them, Charles takes a drag from his cigarette.

Ares watches the man smoke long enough for an inhale, pause, then exhale, before finally turning away and laying down in the grass, eyes closed. The warmth of the sun slowly begins to wash away the nerves, and he breathes deep breaths, chest rising and falling slow and steadily.

“That was … inconsiderate.” Charles shifts, brushing against the grass. “I’m sorry.”

Humming so that vibration tingles his lower throat, Ares loosely wraps his arm around Charles as he cracks open his good eye to look at the man. “It’s alright.”

Charles wraps the fingers of his free hand around Ares’ where it rests on his hip. Finishing his cigarette, he stubs it out on the bottom of his shoe, grinding away the last of the burning debris into the ground with his foot. He tosses the spent filter onto his backpack instead of throwing it out into the grass or water. “You have fish on Palaven?”

Ares chuckles and closes his eye completely, flexing his hand around Charles’ hip. “Yeah. They’re actually a delicacy, given how little you’ll find turians on the water.”

Charles hums. “Most of the ones here, hell, a lot of the animals here, were brought over from Earth. Not all of them, though. They just wanted enough to make sure there’d be adequate food supplies. Of course … like a lot of life on Earth, a lot of the plants and animals were too aggressive for the wildlife already here, taking over habitats and choking out the native stuff.”

“Invasive species,” Ares says, nodding against the grass as he lifts his head so he can bring his arm up to cradle his neck and protect his crest. “We’ve had that problem before.” He huffs in amusement. “Long time ago, there was a colony that even had a special group of trained professionals going around killing the species destroying the ecosystem.” He cracks open his eye and smirks. “Too bad the Council isn’t so agreeable with turians when it comes to _invasive species_.”

Charles turns his head, raising an eyebrow. “Are you calling me an invasive species?”

Ares smirks wider, but shrugs innocently. “No, of course not.”

Charles elbows him in the side. “Shut it, you like having me around.”

“You have certain qualities,” Ares says, leaning up just enough to press his mouth plates to Charles’ cheek before laying back down. “But you have to admit humans didn’t really enter the galactic community in a very graceful manner.”

Charles smiles at the contact. “We didn’t know there _was_ a galactic community to enter.”

Ares hums, shifting to get more comfortable on the ground, the one time his weaponry isn’t helping him making itself painfully obvious. “No, I guess not.”

Charles glances around the area before stretching out on his side, facing Ares, one elbow bent, hand holding up his head. “It could’ve gone a whole lot worse, though.”

Ares actually smiles, though doesn’t turn to face Charles now that he’s finally comfortable. “Much, much worse.”

Charles makes a soft sound deep in his throat, then after a moment of silence, he says, “I kinda miss this place. Didn’t think I’d ever say that.”

“Because there are still good memories from here.” Ares frowns. “I want the same.”

“Yeah … I guess a few. It’s just been so long since I’ve had the chance to think about them.” Charles reaches out, settling a hand on Ares keel. “You don’t have any good memories from home?”

Laying his hand on Charles’, Ares shakes his head. “Ever memory of family comes with the pain of never seeing them again, of being a traitor in their eyes.”

Charles lets out a soft, sad sounding sigh. “I’ve got better memories coming back here with you.”

Ares smiles softly and squeezes Charles’ tiny hand. “Good.” Charles fell into silence, and for once, Ares begins to feel uncomfortable with it and turns his head to look at the man. “Tell me a memory from Shanxi.”

Charles blinks, turning his attention back to Ares before sucking in a deep breath and holding it for a minute. “That playground equipment we passed on the way over here?” Charles looks over in the direction of the area of the park where the children are playing, even though it’s hidden from view. “Sarah and I use to go there to play on the weekends, when we were little. Mom would come with us and sit on one of the benches, reading while we chased each other around.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I really liked the swings.”

“Why?” Ares asks, vocals thrumming in curiosity.

“Because I could get them to go really high up and see out over half the park … and sometimes it felt like I might take flight, never having to come back to ground again.” Charles lowers his gaze to Ares. “I haven’t been on the swings since I was about eight or nine.”

Humming as he watches the clouds drift lazily across the bright blue sky, Ares lets a memory tumble about in his mind. He squeezes Charles’ hand slightly before saying, “My mother would play with us. My favorite game was when she played a … it’s like a large, plated reptile that stands on its back feet at rest.” He turns his head enough to look at Charles. “She would chase my sisters and I through the park, sometimes losing us when we’d hide in the trees.”

Charles grins. “My mother was never that … involved with our play, but I remember seeing other kids’ parents do things like that with them.”

“It’s about the same way on Palaven, some parents would watch and some join.” Ares shrugs and closes his eyes, feeling tension he didn’t even know he had seeping from his joints and muscles. It seems like his weight sinks into the grass with each new breath, mind stilling even as it takes in the sensations from the sun on his plates to the scent of foreign plants, Charles’ own scent mixed in with the man laying so close.

* * *

 

Charles stayed by Ares’ side as the turian drifted off to sleep. He figured the man needed it more than he was willing to admit. Sitting quietly, Charles flips through one of his old comic books, glancing up at every new noise or flutter of movement. He watched as the sun moved across the sky, Ares didn’t give him a specific time, but he’d said their next targets wouldn’t be alone until the end of the workday.

When he thinks it must be getting close, he checks his omni-tool and glances down at Ares. Keeping a little distance, because he knows waking the assassin can be a dangerous job, Charles leans in just enough for his soft voice to cut through the fog of sleep. “Ares,” he all but whispers.

Ares’ voice is crystal clear, as if he’s been awake all this time, when he says, “What?”

“I think it’s time for us to go,” Charles says, packing his comic book away.

Ares leans up and looks the park over. “You’re right.”

Charles pushes to his feet, stretching his arms out over his head before bending down to pick up his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders. He holds a hand out to Ares. Though he’s sure the turian can rise on his own, he’s pleased when Ares takes the offered hand and pushes himself up from the ground. Giving Ares a chance to fully orientate himself and take the lead, Charles glances around again, a sort of antsy feeling settling down over his shoulders, creeping into his neck. He wonders who they’ll be going after next, Ares said there’d be two of them. He doesn’t ask, though, not yet. Knowing already will only make it that much harder for him to wait.

Ares walks towards the opposite entrance to the park, rolling his head and shoulders. The walk must be a bit of a long one, because Ares soon pulls out his box of cigarettes and lights one, but he doesn’t say anything about their destination. Charles knows nothing, from where they’re going, how far, or even what dangers of getting caught they’ll need to look out for.

Pulling out his own cigarillos, Charles sticks one in his mouth. Already growing used to Ares offering to light it for him when Ares has his lighter out, he waits, not wasting his time looking for his own. “Seemed like you were sleeping pretty peacefully.” He leans into the flame, wrapping his hand around Ares’ when the man holds out the lighter, not even bothering to look at Charles.

“Actually had an empty sleep,” Ares says around his cigarette as he pockets his lighter.

Charles glances up at him. “For you … I’d say that’s a good thing.”

Ares takes his cigarette between his two fingers and pulls it away from his mouth, blowing out smoke after a moment. “Yeah. It is. I’m used to always seeing something or another when I try to sleep.”

Charles hums in agreement. He remembers the nights Ares screamed in his sleep, thrashing around in the bed enough to chase Charles from beneath the covers to avoid being eviscerated by the turian’s talons. “I’m glad you got some good rest, you don’t sleep enough, even for a turian.”

Ares shrugs as he takes a drag, finally blowing it out after a long time of nothing but the sounds of their footsteps tapping on the stone path. “I’m used to it.”

Charles grunts softly, letting the conversation die down as he takes a drag of his cigarillo and scans the area. The sun’s starting to set, the air filling with skycars as people make their way home from work … or to work, he supposed. Porch lights start to turn on, and occasionally he catches sight of happy families moving behind partially drawn blinds; it leaves an empty pit gnawing away at his stomach.

Ares leads them towards a mechanic’s shop, and Charles takes a final drag of his cigarillo, tossing it down to the street before grinding it out under his heel. Flicking his gaze to Ares, he watches the turian watch the shop, knowing his unwavering gaze means the garage is where they’re headed. Charles stuffs his hands in his pockets, fingering the closed razor blade, adrenaline already starting to seep into his system.

“Do you want me to incapacitate them for you?” Ares asks, not looking away from the garage as a man—whom Charles doesn’t recognize as being one of the men who attacked his sister and him, thus not one of their targets—leaves the storefront of the mechanic’s shop.

“Yeah,” Charles says, feeling something in him shift, his footsteps become lighter, more measured, and he tugs his hood up over his head. “At least one of them. If the other’s distracted enough … like Harvey … I can handle it on my own.”

Giving Charles a nod, Ares puts his cigarette between his mouth plates and speeds up his pace as he leads the way across the road. Just as the garage doors slide down on an automatic hydraulic system, Ares ducks under the lowering door, and Charles does the same. Stepping into the bright garage, it looks like every surface has been touched while the mechanic’s hands were still greasy, fingerprint and the occasional handprint smears over all of the tools and equipment.

There’s a soft clicking coming from beneath a skycar, raised high enough for someone to slide beneath to work. Ares moves to the lift system, pausing before very slowly lowering the jack. Furious curses fill the air as the mechanic stops his work with a loud clang followed by a rough scuffing along the floor.  

“Fucking Christ, Cole!” The ensuing shouts come from beneath the vehicle, and Charles recognizes the voice.

Fighting to keep his eyes open as the memories wash over him, Charles feels himself there again, down on his knees, head hanging listlessly between his shoulders, arms being pulled out to the sides, keeping him pinned in place. He now knows one of the men holding his arms had been Harvey, this fuck … this fuck was the other. And he liked to watch.

Just as the mechanic slides his torso out, Ares activates the lift, instantly lowering the skycar. The heavy vehicle crushes the man’s legs, and he howls in pain, hands clutching at it in a futile attempt to get it off him. “Help me!”

Ignoring the man’s agonized screams, Ares turns to scan the deeper recesses of the garage, probably for ‘Cole’.  

Charles stares at the man’s face, watching him writhe beneath the skycar’s undercarriage. “Make sure he watches everything,” He says, gaze flicking up to Ares. “He really enjoyed watching.”

Ares glances at Charles and nods curtly before moving further into the garage, searching for the man obviously hiding within the heavier equipment and spare tires. The turian must not be able to hear over the pinned man’s howls of pain, because he doesn’t react quickly enough when Cole—previously hidden behind a machine holding up a drive core being worked on—jumps out and manages to hit Ares across the face with a large pry bar. Charles’ breath catches in his throat, fear for Ares choking him, making his entire body go cold in an instant. The blow knocked the cigarette from Ares’ mouth, but he doesn’t even stumble. Snarling, his hand shoots out and wraps around Cole’s neck, jerking the man up into the air, his feet completely off the ground.

Charles’ breath rushes back out of him, relief sweeping through his body, bringing with it a giddy euphoria. He scoffs, shaking his head as he pulls out his straight razor. “Well,” he says, dragging out the word, “ _that_ was stupid.” He’s is impressed at Ares’ self-restraint, knowing in any other circumstances, he’d have killed the man. Shifting his gaze to Ares, he takes in the broken prosthetics along the turian’s brow and forehead, blue blood seeping through the crack in his natural brow plate.

Charles’ jaw tightens, something in him snapping at the sight of Ares’ blood. Slowly, he closes the razor against his thigh and slips it back into his pocket, taking a good look at the man in Ares’ grip, face rapidly turning red from the lack of oxygen. Charles recognizes him easily enough. He’s the first one, the ring-leader. The whole fucking thing had been his idea. Charles crouches down, picking up the tool used to hit Ares, hefting it in his hand like a baseball bat before taking a swing at the side of the man’s knee, hitting Cole as hard as he can. Ares lets go of the man, and he drops like dead weight, sucking in a breath only to let it out again in an agonized scream as he lands on his shattered knee.

Charles lets the pry bar hang limply in his grip, grabbing a handful of the man’s hair with his other hand, and starts dragging him across the floor. The man twists, clawing at Charles’ hand as he tries to get away. Charles tightens his grip, turning around to kick Cole in the ribs, knocking the breath out of him. He glances at Ares, smirking as the turian picks up his cigarette, sticking it back between his mouth plates. Dragging the man the rest of the way, Charles drops him about a meter away from the other—still screaming—man’s head.

The man flips over, pushing himself up on hands and one knee, the other leg hanging at an odd angle. Charles lifts the tool again, swinging it down as hard as he can on the man’s back, and the man drops to his stomach on the ground, his mouth gaping soundlessly, eyes rolling back in his head. Charles takes another swing, bringing the heavy slab of metal down on the ankle of the man’s uninjured leg. He thinks Cole might’ve actually managed to make a noise that time, but he isn’t sure with all the bellowing coming from the other man.

Squatting down next to the Cole’s head, Charles leans in a little. “What was that? I can’t hear you.” He watches as the man’s mouth moves, incoherent babbling escaping his lips. “I was just going to cut you up, but you had to go and do something really stupid. The turian over there,” Charles says, his gaze flicking to Ares before settling back on the ring-leader, “he’s mine, and you hit him. I’m not okay with that.”

Charles stands up again, lifting the pry bar before slamming it into the man’s outstretched hand, sparks flying up off the concrete floor where the end of the tool connects. Cole screams, this one heard perfectly by Charles, and he smiles before kicking Cole in the mouth, knocking a few teeth loose. Moving around to the other side, Charles smirks as the man makes another attempt to save himself some pain, pulling his other hand in underneath his chest. So, Charles hits him in the shoulder blade instead, earning another scream.

“Jesus Christ! Stop!” the man trapped beneath the skycar yells, still trying to free himself.

Charles lifts the pry bar, pointing it at the man. “Be patient, it’s not your turn.” He glances at Ares when he snorts. A slow smile creeps in around the edges of Charles’ mouth as he turns his attention back to the trapped man. “When I finish with this one, it’ll be your turn. But you know, I think I might like watching, too. How about I let him,” he says, jerking his head at Ares, “have some fun while I watch?”

The man tries to twist around to look at Ares, but the position the skycar keeps him trapped in doesn’t allow for much range of motion, still his eyes grow to a comical size.

Charles laughs, glancing back at Ares. “I don’t think he likes that idea very much. How about you?”

“I’m always up for it,” Ares says, shrugging before bringing his cigarette up to take a drag. He doesn’t seem to be at all bothered by the blood dripping into his bad eye and down his face.

Charles smiles at Ares before turning his attention back to the ring-leader, even though a part of him really wants to tend to Ares’ wound instead. Lifting the pry bar again, Charles rests it against his shoulder, pursing his lips as he surveys the damage already done and chooses his next spot. Circling the man a little, he decides to take out the other ankle, lifting the tool above his head before swinging it down. He feels the reverberation of crunching bone and sucks in a deep breath, a little disappointed as Cole’s screams already grow tired and weak. He’ll probably pass out from shock soon. Charles can’t have that. One more, and then he’ll end his game. Lifting the pry bar again, he shifts just a little, smashing it into the man’s other knee before letting it clatter to the ground.

Moving back around to the man’s head, he crouches again, grabbing a fistful of hair with one hand, pulling his razor back out with the other. He forces the man to look at him, eyes half glazed over and unfocused. “Look at me,” he says, but the man’s eyes rolls around aimlessly. Charles shakes him by the hair, letting the command come out in a snarl, “Look. At. Me.”

When at last the man manages to focus his gaze on Charles, he blinks, but nothing in his eyes speaks of recognition. Charles reaches up, tugging his hood down around his neck. “Do you know who I am?”

The man’s lips move, but nothing coherent comes out. Charles growls, shaking the man again.

“Eleven years ago, you decided it’d be a fantastic fucking idea to stop a fourteen-year-old girl and her sixteen-year-old brother out on the streets just after dark.” Charles flips open the razor. “You tried to convince her to leave with you, but when she refused, clinging to my arm instead, you ripped her away from me and threw her to the ground. You and your fucking piece of shit thugs—”

“Shit! Shit, shit. Hey, look man, it was all—” The other man stops talking when Charles glares at him, a low whimper escaping him instead.

Turning his attention back to the asshole splayed out in front of him, Charles takes a deep breath. “As I was saying before I was _so rudely_ interrupted, you and your thugs raped her, beating the shit out of me so I was helpless to protect her … and then you killed her.” Bringing the razor to the side of the man’s throat, Charles presses it into the flesh, reveling in the spark of recognition finally lighting in the man’s eyes. “I’m not helpless anymore.” He sinks the blade in deeper, dragging it down across the pulsing artery.

* * *

 

Ares watches as the flow of crimson slows, flowering over the concrete floor. He wishes the damn bastards put up a better fight than what he’s seen so far. The closest thing to any kind of fight was the makeshift weapon against his face, but that was a fleeting attempt that fizzled quickly.

Dying happens in two ways, fighting for every last breath and giving into it. Fighting is a coward’s way, a dirty struggle full of blood and sweat, and accepting is dignified. Ares will admit to being the coward long ago, of crawling for any way to escape death, he doesn’t try to cover the facts that he was nothing but a sniveling, frightened little child digging himself from the mud because he didn’t have the strength to accept. He often wonders how those who go willinging into the arms of death feel, what they think, but he knows he will never take that route. These men? None of them have attempted either means of dying. They didn’t even have the balls to fight or the brains to give in, choosing to lay down up until it was too late, and then they would try fruitlessly to wiggle their way out of death. These wastes of breath and life fail to impress him as worthy hunts for Charles. What use is revenge when they don’t even make it challenging?

As the flow of blood finally dies to a weak trickle, Charles releases the man he nearly battered into unconsciousness—a boring result of a beating—and Cole’s head drops onto the concrete with a wet thunk. Standing, Charles moves towards Ares and lifts onto his toes to kiss the closest to Ares’ mouth he can reach, managing to touch Ares’ chin. Confused that Charles seems to have forgotten a target, Ares doesn’t immediately react until he looks down to the man and lifts his good brow plate in question.

Grinning, Charles tilts his head towards the lowered skycar and whimpering, writhing man pinned beneath.  “Have fun,” he says just as he makes his way to a different skycar and scoots up onto the hood, starting a fresh cigarette.

A low growl builds in Ares’ chest as he looks to the man who can’t quite see him from down under the skycar. Walking towards his eventual kill, Ares smirks and crouches directly above the man, not speaking as he removes his cigarette and presses the burning end in the center of the man’s brows. The man shouts and his face pulls down into the look of prey, of fear. He stinks, his smell coating Ares’ nose with its noxious scent.

Flicking the cigarette away, Ares glances over his shoulder to Charles. “Mind letting me use your razor? Seems more appropriate than one of my own blades.”

Charles meets Ares’ gaze from his perch, and judging by the sudden, intense flash of interest in the man’s eyes, Ares can tell Charles more than likes the idea. Sticking his cigarette between his lips, he slides down off the skycar, razor still open in his hand and saunters over to Ares, turning the razor around in his palm before offering it to Ares handle first. Letting the tips of his fingers slide along Charles’, Ares takes the blade and turns to the unnamed man before him.  

“Give me your hand,” Ares orders. Shock and confusion fills the man’s eyes as he unconsciously hides his hands in the grooves of the skycar, and Ares flashes the straight razor in front of his eyes. “Do it, or I start flaying your skin off, starting ....” he says, dragging out the word as he taps the tip of the razor to the man’s nose, “here.”

“Please,” the man whispers, voice still laced with pain and body trembling. “Please….”

Ares lets him beg for a moment before reaching down with his free hand and breaking the man’s nose with a twitch of his wrist. The man howls in pain as blood streams from his nose, but it seems to get his attention as he nods rapidly, his hands jerking up to hide his face from further abuse. Ares will save that for later, they don’t have that tight of a schedule now that they have the whole night to play.

Closing the razor blade, Ares places it in a pocket on his jacket as he takes one of the man’s hands, his almost tender touch betraying his true intentions. He places the tiny hand in his palm and smirks before he grabs a pale finger with the other. “What’s your name?”

“Huh … Wha—”  With a smooth jerk, the finger snaps as Ares bends it into an unnatural angle, and the man yells in pain, his voice growing weak from constant use. “I … my name is …. My name is James,” he says, breath shaky as he stares at his hand in Ares’ grasp. “Please … no more ….”

Ares ignores the man and looks to Charles for sign of recognition over the man’s name or face in Charles’ eyes.

Charles shrugs a little, shaking his head. “They never used names.” He takes a drag from his cigarette, pacing back to sit on a closed toolbox. “They just beat the shit out of us, raped us … killed my sister.” His gaze turns back to the man who called himself James. “And this one, he helped hold me down after I was beaten so bad I couldn’t see out of one eye, it swelled shut damn near instantly. The muscles in my neck were torn, I couldn’t even hold my own head up, but _he_ made sure I didn’t miss anything they did to her. He didn’t miss any of it, either. He had a fucking hard on the entire time, just watching what the other sons of bitches did to her.”

Humming at that, Ares gets an idea, but can’t begin to execute it as James starts back up. “Please … that was so long ago … I’m different…. I—”

Ares grows annoyed by the pleas and snaps another finger, the sound of screams of pain better than any words James can offer. Waiting until the sound lowers enough that Ares knows he’ll be heard, Ares drops the hand to thump on James’ heaving chest. “You like to watch, huh?” James merely swallows, eyes wide and frightened. Ares doesn’t need any response, not really, and prefers not to have one anyway as he removes the straight razor from his pocket. Flicking it open, he holds the blade into the light. “Let’s fix that.”

Understanding finally reaching that miniscule brain inside his skull, James whimpers and whines, trying to scoot away. Ares can’t deal with the hard on mentioned from Charles’ memories, the delicate organ crushed along with James’ legs, but he can make up for it. Dropping his free hand to James’ head, he rests some of his weight on it before lowering the blade towards one of James’ eyes. The human squirms as he futilely tries to push Ares’ arm away with his hands. Clenched eyes do make it a bit difficult, but Ares isn’t going for anything pretty and clean. Dead men can’t see as it is, so why not speed that along and make sure of it while James is still alive?

Ares’ hand is steady as he presses the tip of the blade into the outside corner of James’ right eye, humming as he steadies the blade with his finger, talon against the blade, and cuts in a circular motion around the rim of the eye socket. James screams, hands digging into Ares’ arm, and the sound is deafening, drowning out all others, even Ares’ own amused thrumming. With an upward flick of his wrist upon reaching the outer corner of the eye once more, the man’s eye nearly pops out as if spring loaded, and Ares moves his free hand from James’ head to catch the eye before it rolls away. Grinning, he holds it so James can see it through the tears pooling and streaming down his face.

“What do you think?” Ares asks as he glances over his shoulder, holding the eye high enough for Charles to see. “Should I make it a set?” James lets out incoherent protests, strength fading, but Ares merely ignores him.

Charles grins, brushing his teeth over his lower lip, and nods, giving Ares all the confirmation he needs before he turns back to James. Tossing the eye over his shoulder to roll off somewhere, Ares leans down and repeats the action on the remaining eye. James’ pain is less vocal, but Ares relishes the agony twisting his features, mouth open and hands clenching Ares’ arm so hard the knuckles are white and muscles shaking. Ares takes the eye to brush off the removed lid and look into the amber color of the iris.

Charles shifts, the sound catching Are’s ears, before he speaks. “You know, I kinda get it, the whole watching thing. Hell, I’m getting hard right now.” Ares glances over his shoulder and sees Charles take another inhale from his cigarette, shaking his head but eyes never leaving the now blind James. “But she was fucking fourteen. An innocent kid. She’d never even been kissed by a boy yet, never gone on a date. She never even knew what it was like to fall in love.”

Ares rumbles as he thinks that over, imagining what his next step will be with James already too close to giving up and, thus, taking away his chance to really entertain himself.

“Please, man … I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m sorry … I’m sorry for whatever I’ve done …. Just tell him to stop …. Please. This is torture!”  

Charles lets out a heavy, exasperated sigh, probably because the man already more or less admitted to his crimes while watching his companion being tortured. “Ares?” Charles says, waiting for Ares to look at him again before smirking. “Don’t stop.”

“No …. No, no, no, no,” James begs, shaking his head as he tries to grope for Ares’ face. “Please, man …. Just kill me …. Just do it … but not this ….”

“Where would the fun be in that?” Ares growls as he places the edge of the blade on James’ skin just before his face blends into his ear and presses, drawing blood and speeded pants from the man. Going slow enough to get it in one go, Ares drags the blade through flesh, feeling the edge scrape bone as he carves over the crown of James’ head just at the hairline. More blood has covered his own hands by the time he reaches the other ear and tucks his free hand’s fingers under the flap of skin to hold it taut while he begins to cut along James’ jaw. He knows the man still lives by the ragged breaths and pathetic whimpers, but Ares knows it won’t last long. Slicing through the last patch of skin securing James’ lips to the skin of his face, Ares pulls it off and turns to show Charles. “I think I did pretty damn good for my first try.”

“Holy shit,” Charles mutters under his breath, but the words reach Ares’ ears anyway. Wide-eyed as he takes in the skin-mask, Charles lifts his eyebrows, slowly nodding his head. “I think you did an excellent job.”

Ares snorts at Charles’ surprise and tosses the face on the grease-stained concrete, hearing it land with a splat and splash of red blood. He looks down to James and hums as he counts the seconds between weak breaths. “He’s almost gone….”

“What a shame.” Charles’ voice is dry, and he takes another drag of his cigarette.

Grunting in agreement, Ares wants to take the man’s life rather than let him drift off. A death like that is too good for him, too easy for what he’s done. Fisting a hand in the man’s hair, he leans James’ head back further and sinks the razor into his exposed neck, killing him as Charles has killed all the others out of principal. James twitches, whether it be his last attempt to fight or the last death throes doesn’t matter, as Ares stands and leaves the man to fade away in his own mess.


	8. Moral Dilemma

Charles makes his way back to Ares’ side, wrapping his fingers around Ares’ hand. “Let me get you cleaned up before we go.”

Ares grumbles under his breath, but he lets Charles lead him away from the bodies and further into the garage. Charles figures there’s got to be a bathroom back here somewhere, and there will definitely be Medi-gel in a mechanic’s shop. Near the customer entrance, he sees a door marked with the symbol for a unisex bathroom and leads Ares inside. Opening the cabinet under the sink, he rifles around until he sees a first aid kit and pulls it out.

Setting the kit down on the back of the toilet, he pops it open to check out what’s inside. “Soap or alcohol?” Charles asks, glancing at Ares, he’s not even going to ask about the iodine, not knowing if it’s even safe for a turian.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ares shrugs. “I just use whatever’s around.”

Charles glances around the filthy restroom and hums. “Alcohol it is.” He rips open a small package of gauze before picking up the bottle of isopropyl, using it to douse the sterile cloth. Tugging Ares over, he sits the turian down on the toilet so he can actually reach the cut on his head. “What do you want to do with the broken prosthetics?”

Ares sighs, growling slightly, but Charles can tell his irritation isn’t geared towards himself when the turian says, “Just pull the pieces off. They’re useless now …. Bastards are expensive ….”

Charles lifts a hand to cup the side of Ares’ face, rubbing his thumb across Ares’ cheekbone. “Will the alcohol dissolve the rest of the glue?”

Humming, Ares flicks his bad eye towards him—pupil just a shade darker than the rest of the pale iris and sclera. “Never tried it before. You don’t really worry about if it doesn’t. If it ruins the plates more, that’s alright. They’re going in the trash anyways.”

Charles’ jaw twitches a little, but he isn’t going to point out the fact Ares said before ripping the plates off hurts. Adding a little more alcohol to the gauze, he makes sure it’s dripping wet before setting to work, squeezing the isopropyl along the seams of the fake plates. He waits a second, giving it a chance to work before gently lifting a corner. Breathing a sigh of relief when there isn’t any real resistance, he eases the plate away from Ares’ face, dabbing the scar tissue with more alcohol as needed.

“It’ll be bruised tomorrow,” Ares says distantly, rumbling vocals sounding annoyed at the idea.

Charles hums softly, dropping the plate into his hoodie pocket instead of tossing it in the trash. In part just because he wants to keep it, but also because he doesn’t want to leave it behind in this shit hole. He glances up to see Ares watching him, but the turian doesn’t say anything. Charles starts on the next damaged prosthetic, slowly separating it from the scars. Pulling back to look over Ares, making sure those were the only damaged prosthetics, Charles nods to himself and drops the fake plate into his pocket.

Tossing the gauze in the trash, he opens a new one, wetting it with the isopropyl. “It’s probably going to sting, sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Ares turns his head a little towards Charles, making it easier to reach his face, the blood down to a trinkle draining from the mostly clotted wound.

Tilting Ares’ head back with a finger beneath his chin, Charles angles him towards the light. He works at cleaning away the dried blood first, letting him get a better look at the actual damage. The fissure in the plate runs from the start of Ares’ crest all the way down to just above his eye, unlike human skin, it doesn’t gape open, but there is a noticeable separation. Charles hisses, grinding his teeth. He wishes he’d spent longer beating the shit out of Cole, maybe bashed his skull in with the pry bar. Hell, maybe he still will.

Charles throws away the stained gauze, shaking his head as he douses another. Dabbing it along the crack, he tries to be careful, despite Ares’ nonchalant attitude. “He got you pretty good ….”

“Be honest with me,” Ares says, his bad eye flicking to Charles even though the turian can’t actually see from it. “Is my modeling career ruined?”

Charles laughs, tossing the last piece of gauze at the trash before picking up the Medi-gel. “Are you kidding? You know I think scars are sexy as fuck.” Opening the package, he squeezes some out on his finger and begins smearing it over the crack, moving to stand with one of Ares’ knees between his thighs so he can get a little closer to his task.

Ares snorts, bringing a hand up to squeeze Charles’ ass, but he doesn’t move his head. Charles meets his gaze and grins. As soon as the crack is covered with Medi-gel, Charles closes the cartridge and sticks that in his pocket, too. With Ares head still tilted up, he leans down, pressing a quick kiss to Ares’ mouth plates.

“You’re good to go,” he says, stepping back.

Ares nods, humming softly as he gingerly touches around his wound and now bare plates that were hidden beneath the prosthetics. “Definitely going to be sore….”

“I bet … shit would’ve knocked out most humans.” Charles scrounges in the first aid kit again, finding a small mirror, surprised that the bathroom itself doesn’t have one. Then again, it is a disgusting little room in a garage, so … yeah. He hands the mirror to Ares.

Holding up the mirror, Ares tilts his head slightly to the side to examine the wounds without completely blocking out the view from his good eye. “At least it was only two pieces damaged …. Could’ve been worse, I guess.” He glances at Charles and smirks. “I could’ve lost that eye. Then where would I be?”

Charles grins. “We’d have to get you a seeing eye dog.”

Ares pulls in his mandibles, nose plates twitching. “No, thank you.”

Grin widening, Charles takes the mirror back and tosses it into the first aid kit. “Do we need to rush to the last guy, or do you want to go chill somewhere and let your head settle?”

Ares nods and stands. “Our next target will be most vulnerable tomorrow, later in the day. There’ll be less unnecessary involvement from other people.” He motions for Charles to go ahead. “My head hurts too much to look for a spot to spend the night. You’re going to have to lead.”

“I can do that. Is there anything for humans you can take for the pain that’ll actually help?” Charles makes his way out of the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder at Ares.

“A good drink,” Ares responds, pulling up his hood and lowering his head to throw his face into shadows.

Halfway through the garage, Charles spots a small refrigerator tucked back behind a workbench, and he changes course. Opening the refrigerator, he finds what looks like a lunchbox and opens it, rummaging around inside. The sandwich and chips look untouched and fresh enough, so he sticks the lunchbox under his arm and turns his attention back to the refrigerator. He sees a couple of bottles of beer, but he doesn’t have much of a taste for beer, and it won’t do much for Ares. Pulling open the frost-lined flap, he grins, spotting a bottle of vodka in the freezer. It’s not the best, but if Ares wants something to drink, it’s a start.

“Here,” Charles says, pulling out the bottle and turning back to Ares. “Start with that, it’s crap vodka, but it’s something. I’ll get you settled somewhere quiet and dark, and then I’ll go get you something better.”

“My hero,” Ares says and Charles grins as the turian walks over, taking the bottle from Charles and looking it over.

* * *

 

Charles found a warehouse long abandoned and filled with the scent of mold, the air stale, but it was good enough for Ares. The man wanted to find someplace without the uncomfortable scents, but Ares stood firm, insisting it safer they stay in a place less likely to have visitors thanks to its disgusting smell. The more it seemed like no one wanted to deal with a place, the easier it was to hide in for the night. Besides, it wasn’t like either of them would get sick from a single night in the massive warehouse—even if Charles grumbled about it from the moment Ares accepted the place.

The man did, however, insist on sleeping in the foreman’s office above the floor where he could push open the windows along the outside wall for fresh air. Ares didn’t really care one way or another, but agreed that the spot gave them plenty of security, a great perch above the warehouse floor, and a secondary exit through the very windows Charles was so determined to get open despite the rusted hinges and layers of dirt and dust that fell off them in sheets once moved.  

Ares admitted he found it at least a bit amusing to see Charles’ surprise by the amount of dust as he jumped away in time to avoid it covering him. Ares could have helped, sure, but the man acted like he—a near eight foot turian—would break at any show of effort. It was just a headache, he insisted, but apparently headaches could kill humans if Charles’ protectiveness could be believed. Instead of pushing, Ares sat with his back against the corner where he could both watch the warehouse floor and lot outside with a turn of his head, bottle of ‘vodka’ in hand.

After it seemed that Charles was happy with the arrangement of the room, the man left. Ares figured it was best for Charles to go out alone, knowing that he wouldn’t stick out as much in a crowd as he would with Ares beside him. Even late as it was, Ares knew Charles could protect himself, as he had shown through the entirety of their stay on Shanxi, and, put bluntly, Ares just wanted to sit and drink. If the man wanted to go somewhere, Ares didn’t care so long as he came back before he started to worry about the man.

Ares drank enough of the liquor—his means of telling time—that he began to shift and stare at their choices of exits more often than not. He even wasted a cigarette when he neglected it, leaving it to burn away on its own, because he couldn’t stop himself from getting frustrated with the lack of word from Charles. If the damn idiot had told Ares _where_ he was going, Ares would be a bit more aware of the time the man would need to get back, but Ares had absolutely no fucking clue what the damn human was doing.

Making him anxious, is what.

Growling, Ares downs the rest of the vodka and stands. The alcohol doesn’t do much for his headache or his frustrations, but he at least feels the warmth of it in his stomach, so there is one good benefit to the very lacking human shit. Ares checks the windows once more for any sign of Charles out on the cracked concrete, broken with patches of grass that surrounded the warehouse.  Not seeing the man, Ares flicks up his hood and heads out of the foreman’s office, walking with more force on the catwalk than necessary. Just before he manages to cross the expanse of the walk that passes across the width of the warehouse, he hears the small worker’s door open down on the ground level. He palms his pistol long enough to wait for the intruder to enter his sight and hums in annoyance when he sees Charles walking in with bags in his arms.

“What took you so long?” Ares releases his pistol to let it settle back into its holster and narrows his eyes down at the man.

Charles glances up, stopping for just a second to look at Ares before moving to the stairs. “I was hoping to find something better for you.” He shrugs around the bags, taking the steps two at a time. “Sorry … I’m not use to there being someone to worry about me.”

Ares sighs in exasperation before heading back to the office so he isn’t blocking the entire catwalk with his body. He stops to wait by the door once inside and takes a bag out of Charles’ hands before the man even manages to make it all the way through the threshold. Looking into the bag, he finds more liquor, a carton of Charles’ normal brand of cigarettes, and … candy.  

Ares lifts his undamaged brow plate and glances up to Charles without lifting his head. “You got candy,” he states more than questions, his vocals flat.

Charles shrugs, but Ares sees a faint trace of red bloom across his cheeks. “I have a sweet tooth, and it was right there. If I’m going to break into a store, I might as well treat myself.”

Rumbling at the childlike attitude over candy, Ares exhales and lets it go, walking to the dusty desk to set the bag down. Without needing to be told, Ares grabs the large bottle of liquor and returns to his spot on the floor to pop off the top, tossing it across the floor to bounce in the opposite corner. “What else did you get?”

As the man sets down his own large bag of stolen goods, he answers, “I couldn’t find anything dextro, and nothing that might interest you aside from booze and water.” Rifling through the bag, he removes a bottle of water, moving over to hand it to Ares before returning to the bag to search more, where he then retrieves a bottle of one of those orange drinks the man seems to _live off of_ with how often he drinks them. Charles grabs a candy from the bag Ares carried in, something in a bright, flat wrapper, and grips both between the fingers of one hand before grabbing the box of food he took from the garage.

Ares hums as he watches Charles move to sit beneath the windows, bottle of alcohol hovering before his mouth. “You’re really going to eat that shit?”

Charles shrugs again, unwrapping the sandwich and grins. “Waste not, want not.”

Twitching his mandible, mind filling with all manner of examples he could give to justify _not_ eating the food left around by a now dead man, Ares stays silent as he sets his bottle down long enough to remove his box of cigarettes. Luckily, he stocked up before leaving the Citadel, so he won’t be needing to scramble for an equivalent here on Shanxi unless they manage to—stupidly—find reason to stick around after their last kill. If just for that, Ares would insist on leaving before the body even went cold. He lights his cigarette a takes that first, calming drag as he closes his eyes and lets the taste dance across his tongue.

In between drags and deep drinks of his ‘dinner’, Ares watches as Charles eats. Humans eat in a strange way, he muses, as he watches the man take a bite, then move it around his mouth as illustrated by the swell in his cheeks that shifts around as his jaw works. Ares knows humans have to break apart their food—much like Asari—but he never quite _watched_ a human do it. It seems like too much work and way too time consuming. Turians just get a piece and slide it down their throats, occasionally letting it rest on their tongue a moment to savor the taste before swallowing. When Charles ends his meal with the brown candy bar, Ares quirks his good brow plate at the murmuring hums and pleased sounds.

“It’s just food,” Ares says as he blows out smoke and takes a drink.

“It’s chocolate,” Charles counters, as if that really makes a difference.

Ares merely grunts as he watches Charles devour the last of his ‘chocolate’ bar. Settling back against the wall, the man opens a new pack of cigarettes and lights one. Ares doesn’t know why he would open a pack when one already sits neglected in his pocket, but he figures it must be a taste thing as Charles takes a deep drag of the new cigarette and holds it in a second before releasing, a happy smile on his face. The scent in the air from the smoke is different, that spicer smell Ares hasn’t smelled from Charles in some time, so Ares decides that, yes, these are much higher quality than the current ones Charles brought with him to Shanxi.

After another couple of drags, the look on Charles’ face shifts as he takes in Ares. Pushing himself to his feet, he leaves the cleaner air of his window adjacent seat and crosses the floor to sit next to Ares. “How’re you feeling?”

Ares rumbles around the cigarette in his mouth before taking it out with his free hand. “Been better, but it didn’t knock me out and won’t leave any _real_ lasting damage.” What’s one more scar on top of the others? Hell, Ares doubts anyone would even tell with it right in the center of so many others.

“Anything I can do to help?” Charles takes a drag from his cigarette, gaze searching Ares’ face.

Shrugging, Ares take a deep drink and lets the human alcohol wash over his tongue before he swallows. “I’ll probably need to sleep the headache off tonight, or I’ll be useless tomorrow.”

Charles nods. “I’ll stay awake.”

Unlike before, Ares isn’t too wary of sleeping with only Charles around to guard. Sure, the man could have been good enough before, but Ares had to see what kind of man Charles was, what would really happen in a good fight, and although their hunts aren’t technically real fights, Ares trusts that Charles can handle it well enough. If it gets too heavy, the man will always wake Ares up, and he doesn’t sleep all that heavily as it is, so he doesn’t see too much of a reason not to. Finishing off his bottle of alcohol, Ares slides it away from their position so it won’t get in the way later and settles back to enjoy his smoke.

Charles scoots a little closer, resting one hand on Ares’ thigh as he continues to smoke. “It’ll be harder to get back off of Shanxi, won’t it?”

Ares considered that before they set off to Shanxi. In a way, it will be, but he has at least a few ideas lined up, and, judging by how fast they’re getting through this job, the one he plans for tomorrow won’t be one of the last options left for them. If they miss this, or fuck it up, then Ares has some more ideas how to get off.

“Yes and no,” he says, taking a drag to let the silence surround them before exhaling and speaking again. “I’ve looked up quite a few options to get off these next few days.”

Charles seems to trust that well enough, simply nodding as he takes another drag.

“You might have to work for it, though,” Ares adds, remembering where his contact stated that their option for leaving tomorrow—the _SSV York_ , a mining company’s transport—has a stipulation attached. While the captain often takes payment to transport people under the table, he doesn’t do it for credits only. Anyone wanting passage has to work on the ship in some capacity or another because, apparently, he keeps a small crew for just that reason. It’s made the _York_ a prime ship to transport _other_ things besides raw minerals and mining equipment.

Charles’ face stills, his words coming out slow when he asks, “Work for it _how_ exactly?”

Ares shrugs, stamping out his cigarette on the floor before flicking the butt away. “Cleaning duty, carrying cargo around the bay or offloading and unloading,” Ares starts, watching Charles relax. “You thought I meant sex, didn’t you?”

Charles turns his attention towards the window across the room, lifting his cigarette to his lips before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He takes a drag, letting it out slow. “Kept myself alive for a few years using sex. Just not something I really want to do again. There’s a lot of assholes out there who think if they’re paying for it, they can do whatever they want to me.” He tilts his head a little, shoulder jerking up before falling again just as fast. “They weren’t all bad, some of them were actually pretty good to me, but ….”

Ares nods in understanding, looking to Charles completely. “You don’t have to worry about that. They only charge sex in the Terminus, and I’d take that hit. It’s my job we’d have been doing out there.”

Charles doesn’t say anything for a minute, just turns a little to lean in against Ares’ side and smokes his cigarette. When he does speak, what he has to say isn’t exactly what Ares expects. “I’d do it again, if it came up. If there was a reason to. But … after coming back here, after killing these guys, I can’t swear I wouldn’t hurt someone if they got too rough.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Ares says, leaning back against the wall and tilting his head so his crest isn’t pressed completely against the cold surface.

Charles lets out a soft sigh. “I think I may enjoy it a little too much. Going back to the Citadel after this … returning to a ‘normal’ life is going to be hard.”

Ares hums and closes his eyes. “Just be careful, whatever you do. I can teach you some things, but I can’t tell you everything that will work for you.”

“Like what?” Charles aks, shifting his head against Ares.

“I can offer you a copy to my tech, show you how to use surveillance to your benefit.” Ares cracks open an eye. “But I can’t really show you how to kill someone with your bare hands or anything.”

Charles is quiet a moment, his brow furrowed slightly as if in thought, before ne nods softly. “That’d be cool.”

“Good,” Ares responds sleepily, the pounding headache, smoke, and liquor starting to hit him and slow his reaction time. Rumbling as he closes his eyes again, Ares leans against Charles and listens to his own breathing slowing.

* * *

 

Ever since waking up, having slept for a few hours once Ares was awake and active again, Charles has been trying to remember the details of the last man’s face on his mental checklist. He finds himself both excited and dreading taking the final man’s life, knowing it’ll mean an end to all of this, and he’ll have to let go of the high he’s been riding since they arrived on Shanxi. Well, since he watched Ares kill his father.

Charles glances over, looking up at Ares, trying to feel out the depth of this _thing_ he feels for the turian now. He’s never really felt _anything_ for _anyone_ aside for the love he had for his sister and mother. Okay, yeah, he had a couple of crushes on other kids in school back before his whole life turned to real shit, but he refuses to call whatever it is he has with Ares a _crush_. He’s not really sure what to call it, though, but he wonders if Ares feels the same. Wants Ares to feel the same. Sometimes he thinks he does, like when Ares presses his forehead against Charles’. Charles knows it’s an affectionate things for turians, so it’s got to be something he’s feeling and not just something human he’s trying to mimic to keep Charles happy.

Still, in the quiet moments, Charles continues to hear his father’s nagging voice in the back of his head, telling him how worthless he is, making him think there’s got to be a catch to this whole thing … Ares can’t genuinely care about him, because no one ever does. He really hoped killing the man would shut his father the fuck up. No. There has to be something real here. Ares wouldn’t share so much of himself, wouldn’t be so patient and understanding with Charles if it wasn’t real. Hell, as soon as he learned about Charles’ past, he made plans to kill the men who hurt him. More importantly, he risked a whole hell of a lot to bring Charles along with him, letting Charles decide how much time to take and how much pain to inflict on the men who ruined him.

And now, they’re headed to their final target, as Ares called them. Charles will take the life of the last one, and then maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to leave them in his past once and for all. Maybe, if they have time, he’ll tell Ares he wants to visit the cemetery … tell Sarah she can finally rest easy.

Ares glances Charles’ way, the gloomy shadows of pre-dawn doing nothing to help him see past the turians hood. Ares doesn’t say anything, though, so Charles just figures he’s tired of feeling Charles stare at him. Turning his attention back to the ground, Charles keeps walking until Ares holds out a hand, bringing him to a stop. Glancing up, Charles sees Ares is pointing at a skycar, and he nods his head.

Taking a second to scan the area, making sure there’s no one else around, Charles jogs across the street and drops to his back next to the skycar. He slides a little closer, wedging his arm up beneath the skycar and starts searching for the wire he wants. The soft—probably deliberate—shuffle of footsteps across the asphalt not far from his head draws Charles’ attention, and he glances over to see Ares has joined him. Ripping the wire loose, he nods, scrambling back to his feet and moves to the passenger side door. He opens the door, sliding into the seat, Ares already inside.

Ares starts the vehicle, and it lifts into the air. Charles watches out the window in silence, his gaze occasionally flicking over to Ares. Soon, they enter a residential neighborhood that seems vaguely familiar to Charles. He realizes he knows exactly where they’re at, the neighborhood has just changed a lot in the last decade. A minute or two later, Ares lowers the skycar in an alley and climbs out.

Charles follows Ares, closing the door behind him so the dome light doesn’t draw attention. Taking advantage of the shadows, Ares leans against a wall near the mouth of the alley, looking out over the street. Charles stops next to him, trying to follow his gaze, but it’s still too dark for him to tell what Ares is looking at.

Huffing, he shifts a little. “Where am I looking?” he asks, voice pitched low.

Ares hums as he crosses his arms. “Fourth house from the corner, red brick, two lane driveway with a medium and a large class skycar.”

Charles nods, zeroing in on the house Ares describes, and he settles in to wait and watch. He hates this part. This part sucks. It’s boring and his muscles get stiff just standing around doing nothing. It’s maybe even a little worse than working a shift at Citadel Souvenirs. Charles laughs inside his head, scolding himself for letting the ridiculous idea even cross his mind.

Two hours pass, the sun peeking over the rise, streets filling with adults and children, making their way to work or school. Charles shifts a little, an uneasy feeling starting to settle in around his shoulders. He never stopped to ask, or even wonder, if these men had families of their own now, but the more houses he sees opening up with children coming outside … the damn house he watches is certainly more than a single man needs, so is the family sized skycar.

_Fuck._

“He’s got a family,” Charles whispers, more to himself than Ares.

Ares obviously doesn’t understand the dilemma when he answers, “Then we hunt him until he’s alone.”

Charles shifts his weight from foot to foot, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He swallows, taking a slow, shallow breath and asking himself if he can really kill the man knowing he’s probably got kids. Either way, the answer that comes to him definitely isn’t a resounding ‘no’, so he nods a little. “Alright.”

Twenty minutes or so later, the door to the house opens, and Charles’ heart skips a beat as a little boy and a little girl step out onto the porch, turning over their shoulders to look back into the house. His heart sinks, and for a second, he thinks about telling Ares he’s changed his mind. The words are right there on the tip of his tongue, but then, there he is—the last man on Charles’ death list—stepping out of the house, and the words disappear on a puff of smoke.

Ares turns, jerking his head back towards the skycar, and Charles starts walking. He opens the passenger door and climbs inside, some part of him feeling a little numb and disoriented. The other door opens, and Ares sits down, starting the skycar. Moving the vehicle to the opening of the alley, they both watch as the man buckles his children into one of his skycars before moving around to the driver’s side. As soon as the skycar lifts into the air, moving away from the house and down the street, Ares follows.

Traffic becomes denser as they near an elementary school, and Ares lifts the car above the flow just a little, keeping the other vehicle in sight. Reaching the school, Ares lingers back a ways, and they watch as the man parks his skycar, walking his kids to the school’s front doors. The kids hug him, and he kisses them on top their heads before waving goodbye. Charles chews on the inside of his cheek as he watches the man return to his skycar, lifting it into the air.

Ares gets theirs moving again, too, keeping a comfortable distance from the man’s skycar. Charles is a little relieved when the man leads them to a strip mall, sticking to well-populated areas. It gives him a little more time to think through this thing. He hates the man, it sickens him to think about what the man did to him and to Sarah, but … he’s got kids. What’s finding out their dad’s been tortured and murdered going to do to them?

The man goes inside what looks like a party supply store, and Ares parks the car down the street to wait. He’s not in there very long, coming back out maybe ten minutes later, his hand wrapped around a bundle of brightly colored helium balloons. Charles can’t read them from where he’s at, but something in his gut tells him the balloons say ‘Happy Birthday’.

_Shit._

Charles bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. He doesn’t look at Ares when he sees the turian’s head snap toward him, scenting the air. Licking his lip, he leans toward the windshield a little, narrowing his eyes as he tries to make out what’s written on the balloons. The best he can see is the picture of a teddy bear surrounded by confetti on one of them, and Charles rakes a hand through his hair. The man gets in his skycar, fighting to get the balloons all tucked inside and shoved into the backseat before taking off again.

Ares starts the car, taking off as soon as the man does. They don’t go far, though, before the man turns out of traffic again. Ares grumbles when the next destination turns out to be a grocery store, but he lowers the car in a parking lot across the street and turns off the vehicle. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he pulls out his cigarettes and lighter. Charles decides a smoke break is a damn good idea, pulling out his own pack.

They watch the store in relative silence, smoking their cigarettes. Ares settles into this sort of trance like stillness, save for the near mechanical movements of bringing his cigarette back and forth to his mouth. A few times, it almost seems like he might be falling asleep, but Charles knows better. The turian is just far more used to this part of his job than Charles. Conservation of energy, he supposes.

He takes a deep breath, content with the knowledge that Ares is still watching, and closes his eyes for a minute. Bringing his third cigarillo to his mouth, he takes a heavy drag and blows it back out, letting his mind fill with the memories of that night. The man they’re stalking now … he’s a vicious sonofabitch, or at least he was. He sure doesn’t seem so vicious anymore, at least not from what Charles has seen. Still, he was the one to suggest Charles get all the same treatment as Sarah, the first to rip Charles’ clothes off of him. The first to rape Charles, and the last. Except, at the end, it wasn’t his cock he used, but a branch broken off a tree. If not for that … Charles’ stay in the hospital after wouldn’t have been half as long, the painful surgeries he had to endure … never would’ve been needed.

Eyes snapping open, Charles sucks in a ragged breath, feeling sweat slip down the back of his neck. Heart pounding in his chest at just the memory, he glances at Ares to see the turian watching him out of the corner of his eye, rumbling softly. Charles forces a smile on his face and brings the trembling hand holding his cigarillo back to his mouth. He can’t breathe, though, not even enough to smoke. There’s … there’s not enough air in the car.

“Start the skycar,” Charles says, licking his lips, hating that his voice shakes. “I need to lower the window a little more.”

Ares doesn’t question him, doing as he asked, and Charles rams his finger against the window controls. He lets go when the window is low enough for him to take in deep, lungfuls of fresh, cool air, and Ares turns the skycar back off. After a few seconds, the feeling of suffocation starts to abate, and his heart slows down. Charles pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head at himself. Finishing off his cigarillo, he flicks it out the window and turns his gaze back to the store.

Nearly an hour passed since the man went inside before Ares starts the skycar again, and Charles scans the area, taking a minute to spot the man walking back across the parking lot, his arms laden with bags. Fighting with the balloons that try to escape when he opens the door, the man shoves the bags into the back seat before climbing in the front.

They follow him back to his house, and Charles thinks they’re finally going to get their chance. Now feeling more certain of his course of action, he’s ready, but he’s quickly disabused of that notion when one of the neighboring houses opens up, and a woman steps outside. Charles lets out a low, frustrated growl when the woman crosses her yard to strike up a conversation with the man he’s waiting to kill. She moves to the other side of the man’s skycar and helps him carry his bags into the house.

Charles waits, and waits, and waits, but she stays inside, only coming back out when the man does, watching him climb into his vehicle again and waving as he flies off. Ares starts the car again, taking off after the man, seemingly content with this extended game of cat and mouse. Charles sighs, leaning back against the seat and gets comfortable.

Six random, stupid, time-wasting stops later, the man parks his skycar outside of a homeless shelter, and Charles says, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He watches as, sure enough, the man climbs out of his skycar and walks right up the front steps to the shelter, disappearing inside. Men and women in various states of disarray mill around outside of the shelter, others move in and out of the building, stopping people who walk by on the streets to talk—probably asking for spare credits or trying to bum a smoke, Charles has seen enough of it, done enough of it, in his life to know—only to be given dirty looks by most, completely ignored by the rest.

He huffs, shaking his head and digging out his cigarillos. A glance at Ares shows him doing the same, lighting his own before holding the lighter out to Charles. The gesture relaxes him a little, bringing a smile to his face as he cups his hand around Ares’, sheltering the small flame before leaning in to light his cigarillo. His stomach growls as he smokes, but it’s the least of his concerns at the moment.

Leaning back against his seat, he takes a drag, blowing the smoke towards the cracked window, but he keeps his gaze on Ares. “Is it always like this for you? The constant waiting?”

“Depends on where the target lives. Most of the times? Yes, but sometimes you get a contract on a planet that just doesn’t give a shit, everyone sticking their heads down and out of anyone’s business.” Ares leans his arm against his window, cracked open to let more air in. “When I’m sniping? All the damn time.”

“What do you do to stave off the boredom? The restlessness?” Charles turns a little so he’s not straining his neck while he watches the turian.

Taking a long drag from his black cigarette, Ares rumbles in his throat before releasing his breath. “Think about shit, sing battle hymns in my head, do the occasional people watching so long as they don’t stray too far.” He shrugs. “Whatever really crosses my mind at the time. More times than not, it’s just how I’ll eventually kill the target.”

Charles hums, taking a couple of drags from his cigarette before he asks, “Do you take every contract offered to you?”

“There are some I haven’t,” Ares says, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Sometimes someone just isn’t worth the money. I’ve had husbands want to murder their wives to get out of alimony, disputes about a rich relative’s will, cheating spouses wanting to kill anyone who would reveal their deceit to their spouse—usually when money is to be lost. Boring shit like that.”

Charles chuckles, turning his gaze back out the windshield toward the homeless shelter. “What do you consider to _not_ be a boring contract?”

Ares hums, and out of the corner of his eye, Charles sees Ares tilt his head. “Sometimes I specifically go for those that lend themselves to a certain irony. Killed an actor just as he was giving his final bow, drowned a former professional swimmer, made a chef that poisoned a political leader choke on his own food. I also tend to take anything against the Hierarchy or anything that revolves around someone wanting revenge, whether it be against a person or group.”

Humming, Charles takes a drag off his cigarette. “So this,” he says, waving his hand in a tight circle through the air, “is a specialty of yours? But … you don’t normally take people with you, right? I’m just special.” He smirks.

“You’re closer to me than anyone else in my profession, client or contact, so this was different.” Ares takes a drag, exhaling it as he says, “These are your lives to take.”

Charles smiles, letting that sink in for a moment. He snorts a little, glancing back at Ares. “Damn. You set the bar kinda high, you know? How the hell am I supposed to show you that you’re special to me?”

Ares snorts softly and takes a slow drag but doesn’t respond. Charles reaches across the empty space between them, wrapping his fingers around Ares’ free hand, and brushes his thumb across Ares’ knuckles, letting the silence return.


	9. Anthony Garza

Charles held Ares’ gun on the man in the backseat of the stolen skycar. It took hours, but finally they found the chance to snag the man, Ares manhandling him into the vehicle. He was cuffed, but still, with him sitting behind them, neither Charles nor Ares were willing to leave it at that, letting the man stay back there unwatched. The man begged the entire trip to the industrial district nearby. He told Charles over and over again how he’s a changed man, but Charles only looked at him and said, “So am I.”

When that tactic failed, he decided to confess his sins and beg for forgiveness. Charles nearly shot him in the face right then. He must’ve gotten the message that reliving his moment of glory wasn’t going to save his life, so instead he hit the one spot that very nearly did make Charles change his mind. He talked about his kids and his wife, telling Charles their names, going on and on about his loving fucking family until Charles lunged between the seats to hit him in the head with the butt of the pistol, nearly making Ares crash the damn skycar. Finally, he shut up, but instead of yammering on and on, the man started crying.

_Jesus Fucking Christ._

Charles sighs, relief washing over him as Ares finally picks a suitable spot and lowers the skycar. He keeps the weapon trained on the man until the skycar stops, and Ares steps out, pulling back the seat and taking control over the sobbing man. Stepping out of the car himself, Charles takes the chance to look around.

They’ve parked behind what looks like a factory, old, probably one of the firsts on Shanxi. There aren’t any lights on inside, and most of the automatic lights stationed outside have been busted out, leaving them in relative seclusion as the sun begins to set. Ares growls at the man, jerking his arms up higher behind his back when he starts to struggle, lifting him off his feet when he starts to drag them instead of walking. Charles moves ahead of them, finding the door locked, but a window nearby busted out, he doesn’t waste his time with hacking through the lock.

Climbing through the window, he drops down to the factory floor and stifles a cough as his feet kick dust into the air. He squints, willing his eyes to adjust to the darker interior before feeling his way back over to the door, flipping the switch for the lock. The light turns green, and he slaps his hand against the rolling door’s release, stepping back as it starts to rise.

Ares drags the man inside, and Charles closes the door behind them. Using his omni-tool for light, he looks around the factory, spotting a long, mesh, metal table. He points it out to Ares, and the turian drags the man over, Charles right behind them.

“Your … your name’s Charles, right? Charles Fairclough?” The man struggles, twisting in Ares arms to try to keep Charles in sight. “I remember hearing about you in the news, hearing how they weren’t sure if you were going to survive or not.”

“Shut up,” Charles says, his voice growing cold.

“I’ve never forgotten you or your sister. Everytime I close my eyes, I see your faces … I see what I did to you.”

“I said shut up,” Charles glances at the man, putting enough steel in his gaze to silence him, but only temporarily.

“I’m sorry, Charles.” The man shakes his head. “More than you can ever know. That night changed my life, and I’ve tried so hard to be a better man.”

Ares snarls, stopping short of the table to wrench the man’s arms, bringing a yelp of pain from him. Snapping his teeth next to the man’s ear, Ares pours venom in his voice as he says, “He said _shut up_.”

Starting to sob again, the man nods.

Ares drags him the rest of the way to the table Charles pointed out and then turns to Charles. “You want him to stay handcuffed?”

“Yeah.” Charles shines the light over the table, holding it there while Ares lifts the man onto the table, resecuring the cuffs through the mesh.

* * *

 

The act of finally putting their target—Anthony Garza—into the very last position he will ever be in his life seems to break the seal of silence as he begins to sob again, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes pool at the divet near his ears before flowing through his scruffy hair. Testing the cuffs’ hold out of habit, Ares steps back when he finds their hold solid and looks to Charles to begin, satisfied that there is no better arena for the man to instill judgement on Anthony than the squirming man begging for his life in front of them.

“Charles,” Garza says between heavy gasps of breath before swallowing, as if trying to regain control of his voice. “Charles … I know why you’re doing this …. I understand … and I forgive you.”

Charles blinks, tightening his grip on Ares’ pistol still held in his hand. Suddenly, Charles’ head tilts back to the ceiling, and a loud roar of laughter rips through him, shaking his entire body, echoing off the factory walls and making Anthony’s eyes widen in horror. “You …” Charles starts to say, but laughter takes over him again. He walks a little closer to the table, holding the gun out to Ares, and Ares takes it, putting it back in his holster. “You forgive me?” He laughs again, rubbing his hands over his face. “ _You_ forgive _me_?”

Charles reaches into his pocket, pulling out his straight razor, and with a flick of his wrist, opens it. Lunging at the man, Charles presses the blade against Anthony’s cheek, blood welling up instantly, but he doesn’t drag the razor across the skin just yet. Leaning in close to the man’s face, the crazed smile never leaves Charles’ face as he says, in a voice eerily calm, “You broke a branch off of a tree, and then you shoved it up my ass. You ripped open my insides. When I close my eyes, I can still feel it there, sharp edges shredding me, bark scraping away at my flesh. Then, you left me there to bleed out, left me for dead … but _you_ forgive _me_?”

The more Charles reveals, the tighter Ares’ muscles clench, and it’s all he can do to turn around and walk to the flat surface of a conveyor belt just beside where it disappears into some machine, stopping himself before he reaches out to kill the man with his own talons. Taking a deep breath, he leans on to the table, his head hanging as he closes his eyes. He vaguely hears Garza begin to spout out some mantra of praises and pleas to some human god as Charles laughs.  

“Are you fucking serious? God doesn’t hear you,” Charles says as Ares digs his talons into the belt, trying to control his low growl, reminding himself that Charles can handle it. He _needs_ to handle it. “God doesn’t give a _fuck_ about you, or anything you have to say. If he didn’t hear my prayers while you sick fucks did all that shit to me and my sister, he _sure as hell_ isn’t listening to your pathetic, sniveling prayers now.”

Calm once more, Ares lets out a long exhale and straightens up, hearing Anthony respond to Charles. “God forgives…. He’ll forgive me … he’ll forgive you….”

“Let’s see if you still want him to forgive me when I’m done with you,” Charles says, voice filled with ice, and then, Garza screams, the sharp, metallic bite of blood filling the air. The scent grounds Ares enough to remind himself that Charles is getting what he deserves, the revenge owed to him, and he lets out one more long breath before returning to watch.

Charles has cut open the man’s face, sliced deep into his cheek, enough for fat to give way to muscle, and muscle to give way to bone. He stares at the bleeding wound for a moment, humming to himself some low, soft tune Ares’ has never heard before. Lifting the blade to the other side of Garza’s face, Charles digs the tip in, twisting it from side to side. Garza clamps his mouth closed, seeming to refuse to scream again, instead, he starts praying again through clenched teeth, voice trembling.

It only seems to infuriate Charles as he snarls, digging the razor in a little deeper, but all the man gives him is a suppressed whimper. Climbing up onto the table, Charles straddles the man, who then bucks his hips, twisting his legs to try to throw Charles off again. Charles responds by punching him in his face, fist connecting with the giant gash in his cheek. Charles leans down over the man, putting his face close to Garza’s again. “Your kids will be better off without you.”

Garza starts to shake, more tears filling his eyes, more pointless prayers spilling from his lips. Charles brings the blade back to the start of his second cut, grabbing the man’s chin to hold his face still when he starts to struggle, and starts slicing through, down to the bone. Blood pours from both sides of the man’s face now, spilling down through the holes in the table to splatter against the floor and filling the factory with its mineral rich scent.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven—” Garza’s prayer is cut short when Charles punches him again.

“Say _one more_ fucking thing about God, and I’ll have the antsy turian over there hold your mouth open while I cut out your tongue.” At Charles’ threat, Ares chuckles, some of the tension rolling off him, and Garza’s eyes widen, whether from the threat or Ares’ laughter, he isn’t sure.

Charles scoots down a little, grabbing a fistful of the man’s shirt and uses his razor to cut through it, exposing the man’s chest. Garza whimpers, the fear of having his tongue cut out seems to be keeping him quiet for the time being. Charles resumes humming whatever tune he’d been before, and pinches the man’s nipple, pulling it away from his chest before slicing it right off. The man lets out a brief scream before clamping his jaw down on it, lips moving as if speaking, but nothing comes out.

Charles glances up at the man, holding the flap of skin and nipple up for him to see. “You’re not praying again, are you?”

The man squeezes his eyes closed, but Charles drops the piece of flesh with a wet plop and smacks the man hard enough to make him open his eyes again.

“You’re the reason I’m like this.” Charles shrugs, tilting his head to the side. “Well, one of them, but the others have already been taken care of. Do you think you’ll need God to forgive you for my sins, too?”

At that, Garza begins to thrash around again. Maybe he finally realizes he really isn’t getting out of this alive. Ares flicks his mandible, amused until Charles loses his balance and tumbles over the other side of the table. Humming in surprise, Ares hears a piercing howl of metal grinding against metal, the entire factory filling with the sound. He ignores it as he goes to Charles to offer a hand up, leaning down and extending his arm, but everything grinds to a halt when he sees the horrific sight of fire flickering to life within a protesting machine as the conveyor belt jerks and emits noxious smoke. Instead of going cold like so many vids claim, Ares’ body ignites with heat as his mandibles fall in terror, fire growing monstrous when it takes a single breath of the dusty air.

_This isn’t happening … this can’t … this can’t …. This can’t!_

Ares’ knees buckle as his mind focuses solely on the flames, on the fire that’s returned to take his life. He could never have escaped it forever, it was always there, its rage building with each of his taunts using that damn lighter. He practically called it right to him. A keen breaks through his throat as he feels his plates melting. Why can he feel his melting face dripping down over his eyes? When did the fire reach him?  

He’s dying! _Spirits_ , it’s come to collect him! It’s come to finish him off!

* * *

 

“Ares!” Charles yells again, but the turian still doesn’t seem to hear him, trapped in his own hell. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He glances at the man cuffed to the table, insanely torn for a moment before he shakes his head. Turning his attention on Ares, Charles grabs his wrists, trying to pry the turian’s talons out of his own face and head, blood already pouring down his face. “Ares … please.”

“It’s here,” Ares mumbles, body trembling and vocals keening in panic. “It found me … I can’t … it’s too close … I can’t ….”

Charles tugs again, starting to cough, the smoke getting too thick already. He can feel the heat of the fire nipping at his back, but he won’t leave. He can’t leave. Not without Ares. Growling in frustration, because if he doesn’t he might break down instead, he gives up on trying to overpower the turian’s grip. Bringing his face level with Ares, Charles tries to catch his frantic gaze, but Ares only stares past him, pupils completely dilated. “Ares, we have to get out of here.” He coughs again, covering his mouth with the back of his arm. He reaches out, putting his hands on either side of Ares’ face. “Hey!” he yells, trying to break through the fog. “We need to get the fuck out of here, come on!”

The man cuffed to the table screams, and Charles glances over to see the flames have reached him, burning at his hands outstretched over his head.

“Holy shit.” He looks back at Ares, pressing his forehead against the turian’s mouth, unable to get to Ares forehead thanks to his talons clawing at his own face. “Ares, please. Just stand up and follow me, I’ll get us out of here.”

“I’m sorry … I’m sorry, mom … I failed … I failed, fucked up … failed….” Ares continues to chant, mouth plates brushing against Charles’ skin.

Tears start to well up, half from seeing Ares like this, half from the acrid smoke eating through the outer layer of his eyes. The man’s screams, something that should be bringing Charles joy, only add to his growing panic and frustration. He glances at the man again, growling before reaching for the pistol he gave back to Ares, pulling it from its holster. Pushing to his feet, he coughs again, nearly doubling over as the smoke makes him light-headed. Lifting the pistol, he remembers what Ares said, all he had to do was point and shoot. He does his best to aim the weapon at the man’s head and pulls the trigger. The gun jerks in his hand, the noise deafening even above the sound of roaring flames, leaving his hand numb for half a second before pain lances through his palm. But the man stops screaming. He’ll never scream again.

Looking back down at Ares, Charles’ shoulders sag with relief to see him looking back, eyes distant and confused, hands still clutching at his face, but with Charles. “Come on, get up.” Charles slides a hand under one of Ares’ elbows, trying to help tug him to his feet.

Ares nods, pushing himself to his feet, stumbling. He still seems half lost, maybe more than half, but he starts moving. Charles wraps his free hand around Ares’ waist, trying to guide him to the door as he takes lumbering steps, almost as if he’s been drugged. Charles only makes it a couple of feet before he realizes they’ll never make it back out the way they came in, the flames have already consumed that wall, fed by the oxygen coming in through the broken window.

“Shit,” he stops for a second, his own mind starting to feel hazy. Another cough shakes him, and he glances around, looking toward the back of the factory, opposite of the fire. He starts to walk again, but Ares doesn’t seem to want to move. “Come on, Ares. Move!”

“Who …?” Ares looks down to Charles, no recognition in his eyes as he blinks slowly. “Where are we?”

“Jesus Christ … we’re in a fucking burning building, and I’m trying to drag your ass out of here, now come on!”

Ares rumbles, his voice sounding hoarse from the smoke, and he glances around the building, but Charles can still see that blank look in his eyes when the turian meets his gaze once more. Then, pulling his weight to his own feet, Ares’ mandibles tighten against his jaw, and he nods curtly. “Yes, sir ….” Turning to the opposite end of the factory, he starts to stagger, unsteady and still lost in his footing.

Charles’ brows furrow at the ‘sir’, but he can’t complain. If Ares thinks Charles is his CO for the time being, and it keeps him moving, it works for Charles. Grateful to not have to be supporting as much of Ares’ weight, Charles keeps the turian aimed towards the back. His feet hit something, and he glances down, seeing his backpack. He stops long enough to scoop it up and sling it over his shoulder before moving again. Each step, each exploding pop of fire behind them, only seems to pull Ares further back under, though. When Ares starts to falter, feet dragging, Charles yells at him again, ordering him to keep moving. Miraculously, it seems to work. Fuck, maybe God is listening.

When they finally reach the back of the factory, the fire has already claimed half the building, and the smoke is getting thicker and thicker on their end. Whatever the hell the place used to make, the fire seems to fucking love it. Charles needs to get them the hell out of here, fast, or they’ll both die here, whether by fire or by smoke inhalation, in the end it won’t matter. Searching the back wall, Charles spotts what looks like the main entrance, the faint glow of a neon sign cutting through the billowing clouds of ash.

He steers Ares to the door, doing his best to keep holding the turian on his feet even when Charles doubles over, coughing, gagging, gasping for breath. Charles knows all the stuff you’re supposed to do in a fire, including crawling to the exit to avoid the smoke, but there’s no fucking way they’ll get anywhere if Charles tries for that right now. Pulling himself back up, he yells at Ares between strangled gasps. “Keep moving! Come on, go, go!” He pulls at the turian, getting him upright and moving again. “We’re almost to the door, just keep walking.”

Finally, Charles gets them to the door, and he lets go of Ares as he starts coughing again, leaning Ares against the wall. Searching for the switch of the lock was useless, so Charles doesn’t waste much time with it, opening his omni-tool instead. He just entered the locks interface when suddenly, Ares is at his side, his rifle held above his head, and Charles barely gets out of the way before he slams it against the door.

Confused and scared, Charles seriously fucking hopes Ares is able to pull that shit off, because he feels himself sinking toward the floor. Back against the wall, he starts sliding, his legs refusing to keep him upright. He coughs, vision going completely black, but he isn’t sure whether or not it’s from the smoke. Ares just keeps banging, bashing the butt of his rifle against the door, the sound growing more and more distant to Charles.

_I’m going to die here. Maybe that’s okay. How it should be. I did it, though, I avenged you, Sarah._

A wash of cool, clean air smacks Charles in the face half a second before the roar of fire rushing closer fills his ears. Coughing again, he has the oddest sensation that he missed something, like he fell asleep when he didn’t mean to. Scrambling back to his feet, he stumbles, hands flailing wildly until they meet cloth. He latches onto Ares’ jacket, holding on for dear life as he feels around, his hand hitting hot metal before he jerks it back. Kicking at the door, he gets it to swing open again and throws himself out, dragging Ares with him.

They both fall face first onto the wet cement. Wet? Fire rushes out of the door, flames licking at the air above them. Charles recoils, rolling himself over and scrambling back, rain pelting his face as he pulls at Ares. Ares drags himself to his feet, but Charles starts coughing again, his lungs burning, muscles aching.

“... return to my unit …” Ares voice forces Charles to focus, he looks up, seeing the turian wandering about aimlessly, rain mixing with his blue blood, painting streaks down his entire face. “Sir … the unit….”

Charles rolls back to his side, pressing his palms into the asphalt and pushing himself to his feet, picking Ares’ pistol back up. Sirens start to wail in the distance, and Charles curses under his breath, taking staggering steps towards Ares. The skycar was all the way back on the other side of the building, no way in hell will they get back there before the place fills with cops and firemen. Grabbing a hold of Ares, Charles wraps his arm back around the disoriented turian’s waist.

Ares flares his mandibles, looking down at Charles, confusion still holding his eyes captive. “What are you doing?”

Charles holds the pistol—how the hell he managed to keep ahold of it, he has no fucking clue—out to Ares. “Put your weapons away and start walking, now. We can’t be here when the police arrive.”

Ares rumbles and stares at the pistol a second before returning his rifle to his back, then takes the pistol to holster it. “Yes, sir.”

Charles starts limping forward, giving his head a little shake. If Ares remembers any of this later, he’s going to really hate himself for calling Charles ‘sir’. Ares follows along, his gait a little more steady now that they’re out of the flames and in the fresh, rainy air. Good, because Charles still feels like he might pass out at any given moment. Let Ares help keep him on his feet for a while instead.

He doesn’t have any clue where they’re going, all he knows is that they need to keep moving, they have to put as much distance between themselves and the police as they can. When the sounds of sirens grow deafeningly loud, Charles starts to expect the cruisers to be on top of them any second now. Ares rumbles as he comes closer, crouching before Charles, and picks him up in a fireman’s carry.

Charles huffs, not expecting to be manhandled, but as soon as his weight is off his feet, he goes limp. Ares walks with confidence as he turns and enters the shadows between the buildings, the flashing of the emergency response vehicles approaching. Just as Charles begins to tense, the lights closing in too close for comfort, Ares stops and presses as much as he can to the outside wall of a building facing the street, cast in shadows. As the responders’ vehicles speed past, Charles holds his breath, releasing it only once the lights dance around Ares’s chosen hiding place, leaving the two of them concealed.

Rumbling as he turns his head to watch the retreating responder vehicles, Ares steps away from the wall and starts a trek weaving through the back alleys between warehouses until the surroundings begin to shift from the oft empty industrial district to the sleepy commercial district, the sight of store fronts greatly increasing the deeper Ares walks.

After a while of not breathing in superheated smoke, some of the ache starts to ease from Charles’ muscles, his head feeling a little more clear. His lungs still hurt like a motherfucker, and he’s pretty sure they’re damaged, but it doesn’t seem life-threatening. Patting Ares, he says, “I’m okay to walk.”

Without saying a word, Ares crouches, setting Charles back on the ground. Charles waits a moment, testing the veracity of his own statement, making sure he doesn’t sway or feel like he might pass out before glancing up at Ares. The turian watches him, expressionless and waiting.

Charles sighs, feeling a little lost without _his_ Ares there to guide him. He rubs his forehead, fighting back the voice in his head that wants to ask ‘what if Ares stays like this forever?’ Turning, he starts walking, feeling tired, but at no real risk of falling over again. “We need to find a place to crash for the night. Get some water in us, something to eat.” Eyes growing wide as an uncomfortable thought fills his mind, Charles looks back up at Ares. “Do you remember where we are?”

“Shanxi,” Ares says, looking around. “This area poses too much of a risk when the sun rises.”

Charles lets out a relieved sigh, at least he wasn’t going to have to try to explain to Ares why there isn’t anything around safe for him to eat aside from whatever he still has crammed into his pockets, or why he is basically in the middle of hostile territory … with a human. Whatever the hell is going on inside of Ares’ mind, he seems to take that much with ease. “What do you mean poses too much of a risk?”

“We need to— _I_ —need to rest….” Ares shakes his head once before starting to walk, determined to reach some destination Charles isn’t aware of.

“Whoa,” Charles says as he starts walking a little faster, trying to keep stride with the long-legged turian. “Hey, big guy, don’t get me wrong, I trust you, but right now your head’s not on straight. I need to know where the hell you’re going, if you’ve got a place in mind, or what?” No fucking way in hell is he letting Ares wander off in the middle of Shanxi like this.

“There’s a vacant home, condemned for structural damage. It’s quiet, cold,” Ares says, not looking at Charles.

Charles lifts an eyebrow. “Uh huh … and just out of curiosity, what year is it right now?”

Ares pauses for a moment, tilting his head a fraction. “The year is 2179 in Galactic Standard years.”

Charles nods, and says, “Okay, good. And … who am I?”

“Charles Fairclough, of Shanxi. Twenty-seven years of age,” Ares says without hesitation and takes a right when they reach an intersection.

“Okay, good.” Charles takes a deep breath, sending pain lancing through his chest, nearly making himself cough again. “And who are you?”

“Sirus Va—” Ares comes to a sudden halt, vocals making a weird buzz before he says, “No.  Ares. My name is Ares.”

Charles reaches out, hesitantly taking Ares’ hand as something coiled inside of him starts to relax. “Good. Keep moving, Ares.”

Ares releases a long, heavy exhale, but doesn’t pull away from the contact as he nods curtly and continues walking. He leads them through the closed business district, avoiding the center of town where there might still be people milling about, and enters the residential district, heading for the older part of town. They must’ve walked for over an hour before Ares stops in front of a house that definitely fits the part of being ‘condemned’ with half of its roof sagging, windows broken, and missing the front door. The thing really looks like it’s on its last limb, just waiting to be bulldozed into a pile of rubble.

Charles takes a slow breath, one-hundred percent certain he could’ve found them something better _and_ closer, but they’re here now, and Ares seems content with the place, so it’ll have to do. Stepping lightly, Charles makes his way through the gapping doorway and looks around, using his omni-tool for light. Ares ducks into the doorway of the old home, obviously meant solely with humans in mind, and looks around, not needing more light to see.

“Ares … can you secure the door?” Charles glances up at him, hoping to see some of the confusion gone from his gaze

“That would depend.” Ares looks at Charles, but it’s too dark for Charles to see anything in his one clear eye. “Do you plan to use it if we need to evacuate?”

Charles does his best to fight back a smartass retort, exhausted, scared, and in pain. “Windows work fine for me, if need be. I’d rather have at least a little warning if someone comes in.”

Ares hums, in agreement Charles thinks but isn’t sure with how flat Ares’ voice and vocals are. He walks further into the room and picks a piece of furniture resembling a giant, antique chest as tall as Charles’ waist. Hefting it up, he carries it to the door, and lets it drop with a heavy thud. “Good?”

“Yeah …” Charles says with a sigh, having an even harder time seeing Ares now. “Let me get your face cleaned up, and you should drink some water, before you sleep.”

Ares rumbles softly and approaches him, wrapping a large hand around Charles’ smaller wrist. He pulls gently as he turns and begins to walk towards the wall, either because he doesn’t understand or because he just isn’t listening to what he’s told to do anymore. He purrs as he sits with his back to the wall, dragging Charles down to sit on the floor between his long legs.

Charles lifts the corner of his mouth, a soft snort slipping from him even as he feels more tension and fear slipping away. He tilts his head back to try to make out Ares’ face in the dim glow of his omni-tool. “At least drink some water?” He tugs at his backpack, pulling it around to open it, and grabs a couple of bottles of water.  

Instead of listening, Ares ducks his head to bury his face against Charles’ shoulder, thrumming deeply. Something inside of Charles shifts, whatever reserves of energy he’s been pulling on to keep himself going until he knew Ares was safe suddenly runs dry. Tears start to well up in his eyes, but he blinks them back. Reaching a hand up, he settles his fingers beneath Ares’ crest and turns his face into the side of Ares’ head.

“You scared me,” he whispers, taking in a deep breath, the scent of Ares blood filling his nostrils. Pressing his lips to the turian’s temple, he shifts, resting his head against Ares’ before licking the blood from his lips.

“What?” Charles asks when Ares mumbles something, muffled enough by Charles’ shoulder it doesn’t translate.

Ares breathes heavily as he shifts his head to uncover his mouth. “I almost got you killed.”

“No,” Charles says, making his voice firm. “You got us through that door. I almost got us killed. I’m the one who hit the switch that started the damn fire, even if it was an accident.”

Ares seems uncertain when he asks, “Did I … did I do anything … off?”

Charles considers that for a moment, not really sure how he wants to answer. “You panicked, Ares. Given the circumstances, I think it’s pretty damn understandable … even for you.” He takes a slow, deep breath. “It doesn’t matter what else you might’ve said or done, you were able to pull your shit together enough to get back on your feet, you got us through the door, and then you carried my ass away from the burning building and the cops.”

“I don’t remember any of that,” Ares says, coughing a bit with a raspy growl.

Charles shoves one of the bottles of water still in his lap at Ares. “Drink this, please?”

“You first. My lungs are used to smoke, yours are still fresh and healthy.” Despite his protest, Ares takes the bottle, twists off the cap, and takes a long, steady drink that nearly empties the bottle.

Charles snorts, twisting the cap off the other bottle. “I don’t know about fresh and healthy, I’ve been smoking since I was … seventeen?” He tilts his head back, taking a long pull from the bottle, swishing it around his mouth before swallowing. It eases some of the burn in his throat, so he takes another drink, taking his time so he doesn’t trigger a coughing fit. “Maybe you’ll remember it after you’ve slept.” He turns a little, having won one victory over the stubborn turian by getting him to drink the water, he tries for another. “You tore up your face and head, let me clean it up.”

Ares hums as he finishes the water in his bottle and tosses it away. “Get out your razor.”

“Uh … why?” Charles furrows his brow. “What’s that got to do with getting you cleaned up so you can sleep?”

Instead of giving any real answer, Ares begins to push up the sleeve on his right, unscarred arm. “Get it or I’ll use my talon.”

Charles huffs in exasperation. He doesn’t like the looks of this at all, but for fuck’s sake, if the turian intends to turn into a cutter like Charles, at least Charles knows the razor will be kinder than his talons. “It’s still got that asshole’s blood on it,” he says with a grumble, pulling out his razor. He flicks it open, dumping a little water over it to wet the dried blood, before reaching under his hoodie to pull out the hem of his—still mostly clean—shirt. He wipes the blood off the best he can, casting a frustrated glare at Ares. “You’re going to end up with an infection … on  your arm and your face.”

Ares ignores him as he lays his forearm in Charles’ lap, rumbling. “Put your name.”

“What?” Charles eyebrows shoot up, his jaw dropping. Recovering, he shakes his head, voice softening. “Ares … no … why would you … just _why_?”

“Because … you’re special.” Ares shifts to lay his cheek against Charles’.  “I want to remember why I should keep fighting….”

Charles closes his eyes, tugging at Ares crest until he turns his head enough for Charles to press his head against Ares’. “And what happens when you regret it five minutes from now?”

“Why would I regret being marked by the one who saved my life? By the one who actually believed I was worth it?” Ares thrums and lets his mandible flutter against Charles’ cheek. “You have one from me … and I want one from you.”

Charles reaches up, razor still in hand, and absently touches the healing bite mark with his last two fingers. Sucking in a deep breath, he lets it back out slow. He can’t believe he’s agreeing to this, but …. “Alright.”


	10. Marked

_He nearly died because of me …. Because I’m fucking weak …. But I won’t let it happen again, I’ll have something to remind me …._

Ashamed of his mental weakness, the break in his sanity and control, Ares holds Charles close, pressing their bodies together as best he can. Ares doesn’t care if he’d died back there, probably wouldn’t have even felt it while he was in his terrorized trance, but Charles almost died, choking to death in that burning, fucking factory. All because Ares couldn’t keep it together, couldn’t compartmentalize. He still isn’t completely back to normal, his mind still laced with cracks that haven’t fused back together yet, but he knows he wants this.  

After the way he felt knowing Charles was content with wearing a scar from his teeth, he began to consider that the idea wasn’t such a bad one. Some part of him wanted the same, a mark from Charles. What better way than having the man carve his name into Ares’ skin, with the very razor he often cut his own skin with and that took the lives of those who wronged him, killing his sister as they beat him in his youth? Ares isn’t sentimental, but something tells him this is the best way to do this, that there is a sort of deeper connection if Charles uses the straight razor. Admittedly, the blade will be better than using his own talon, much cleaner. The pain in his own head, from when he apparently dug his talons in, attests to the lack of finesse. He reaches up to touch the wounds, cataloguing what the hell he did to himself with his fingertips.

Dropping his hand to rest on his own thigh so as not to interfere with Charles once he starts, Ares presses his forehead to the man’s shoulder and breathes heavily to take in his unique scent, the rain and smoke still not strong enough to completely mask it. Ares doesn’t know what it is that’s wrapped itself around the two of them, and it still frightens him at times, but he doesn’t want to dig too deep into its meaning, lest it jerk from their grasp and run. Charles means something to Ares—means _a lot_ to him—and though he isn’t quite sure how to compare it to anything tangible, he knows he’s … afraid of it going wrong. He finds himself doing stupid things around this human, things he didn’t even do before his death, but Charles seems to like it, so Ares accepts his lack of knowledge in this—whatever it is—between them.

Coming out of his haze, he looks down to Charles, still and staring at the hide of Ares’ arm. “What’s wrong?”

Charles turns his head a little to look at Ares, uncertainty in his eyes. “I’m not sure how deep I need to cut to make it scar on you … and … I don’t really want to hurt you.”

Ares has never had someone _not_ want to hurt him when they held a blade so close to his person, and he chuckles softly, pressing his mouth plates to the still slightly damp skin just above the collar of Charles’ undershirt and jacket. “You won’t hurt me,” he says, not completely honest, but knowing the cuts will be far less painful than his pounding head and sore muscles—his body having tensed so drastically to leave him in such a state. That, and his mind is still just out of reach, teasing him with wisps of himself while the whole of himself dances just before his outstretched arms. He’s sure the fog around him, blanketing him, will help to dull the pain even more.  

Reaching down between them with his free hand, he guides Charles’ hand to his hide and sets his finger on top of the smaller digit, pressing hard. Ares feels the blade bite into his skin with the slightest fluttering of sensation and hums as Charles tenses at the first sign of his dark blue blood, increasing the pressure against the blade. He watches the tip of the blade sink just enough into his skin that it will leave a scar before releasing Charles’ hand to wipe away the blood so the man can see the depth of the wound. “Like that.”

Charles shifts a little, some of the tension seeming to ease under Ares’ guidance. Slowly, and with his jaw set hard enough to break his small, human teeth, Charles begins to drag the razor through Ares’ hide, carving out a human ‘C’ before lifting the blade again. He wrinkles his brow, looking back up at Ares. Blowing out a breath that puffs his cheeks out, he shifts the blade over and begins the next letter.

“Why can’t my name be shorter?” Charles huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head.

Ares rumbles in amusement as he sets his chin on the top of Charles’ head, lifting his free hand to touch Charles’ side in reassurance. “It won’t kill me. It actually feels pretty good, considering what you’re doing.”

Charles huffs. “Damn well better not kill you.” Lifting the blade, he shifts a little, leaning further back against Ares and pulls his legs up, resting Ares’ arm on his bent knees. “I really hope you don’t change your mind about this … I mean, I guess if shit goes bad, you could always cut it out, but damn.”

Ares knows Charles’ hesitance. He had the same worries when Charles refused to put medigel on the bite mark Ares left during sex. He doesn’t know how to reassure Charles, his words seeming to not be enough to assuage that anxiety. Trust, this is about trust and … some other emotion, and Ares can do nothing more than show Charles he is giving everything, opening himself up completely with the intent to stick around until Charles either pushes him away or he dies. “I might be able to convince you.”

“Convince me?” Charles glances up again before starting the next line of the second letter.

Ares nods, rubbing his chin in Charles’ short hair. “To convince you that I’m serious about this … about whatever it is we have.” Shifting to be able to look down, examining the side of Charles’ face as he stares down, working with a focused look of determination on his face. “Ask me anything. Ask me a question you think I wouldn’t trust you enough to tell.”

Charles furrows his brow. “I’d say having me carve my name into your arm is pretty damn serious …. Humans sometimes think it’s a good idea to get a tattoo of the name of someone when they fall …” He hesitates, his mouth open but nothing coming out for a second. “... in love with them, but relationships don’t always last, and sometimes they get real ugly. Then they’re either stuck with the name of someone they now hate in permanent ink, or they have to get it removed with laser treatments. Having the name there doesn’t keep the relationship from going bad.”

Ares rumbles in consideration and cups Charles’ chin to look at him completely. “I don’t know how to put words to what I feel, or how to compare it to any other experience. Even if whatever is going on changes, I will still have the name of the man I trust more than any other in my hide. Scars are nothing to me, but if you ask something of me, something I’d normally keep hidden, then I’m giving you a piece of me. You’ll have that piece for the rest of your life.” Ares sighs and presses his forehead to Charles, closing his eyes as he tries to put to words what trust means to him, what speaking about his past will mean. If only he can make Charles understand. “Trust … I give you trust beyond just carving my hide.”

“I think you’ve already given me enough, but if it’ll make you happy ….” Charles sighs softly, pressing his forehead back against Ares’. “I don’t really have a list of questions ready, though.” He hums, seeming to think about it for a second. “I asked you who you were earlier, when you were still really confused, and you started to say a different name. I’m guessing it was your real name, well, your first name, anyway. Tell me that.”

Ares drops his chin back to the top of Charles’ head and rumbles in his throat. “I didn’t remember it for the longest time, having given it up over nine years ago and having so many others since then. When Cameric yelled it out just before I killed him, it was like being punched in the throat. My name used to be Sirus Vakarian, but I prefer not to be addressed by that name. To me, Sirus died in that fire.” He lays his hand back against Charles’ waist, squeezing softly. “I chose my new name, the name that I consider _me_ , that even I call myself in my head. It seemed to fit after a ‘rebirth’ to be a separate man from the turian before.”

Charles turns his attention back to Ares’ arm. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to call you anything else.” He finishes the second letter, leaving an ‘H’ in Ares’ skin before moving on to the third. “Hell, I’m still getting used to ‘Ares’. I have to catch myself before calling you ‘Thanatos.’” He glances back up at Ares and smiles. “I like ‘Ares’, though. It’s still another human god, god of war, but whatever. It fits you.”

Ares chuckles, wondering when Charles would bring that up. “It came from my first contract. I was only called ‘the scarred’ or ‘fucked up looking’ turian when I began stretching out into freelance. My first hunt was to track down and kill a theology professor on Illium, an asari that apparently took it upon herself to ‘collect’ artifacts on the black market.” He shrugs, rubbing his hand along Charles’ side absently. “Most were from the warehouses of museums, something that wouldn’t be missed until too late, but there was a human artifact stolen from a small chapel here on Shanxi during the Relay 314 incident. It meant a lot, apparently, but part of me thinks it was just because the humans on this colony didn’t like a turian stealing something with a religious connotation and selling it to another alien.”

“Maybe, but depending on what it was … if it was related to Ancient Greece—Ares is a Greek god—then no, they’d have been pissed no matter who stole or who bought it.” Charles falls silent for a second, then suddenly a grin stretches across his face. “Humans have another tendency to put their names on things that belong to them.”

Ares snorts and presses his mouth plates to the top of Charles’ head, smelling the light scent of rain on his hair. “Aren’t you full of valuable information about human culture.”

Charles snorts a little, moving on to the next line. “Probably nothing too useful.”

“Although … that would explain quite a bit of the graffiti I’ve seen on the walls on Omega and occasionally in the Lower Wards.” He chuckles and smirks down to Charles, knowing the man can see him in his peripheral. “If you put ‘Charles was here’, I might shoot you.”

Charles grins. “It’s still tempting.” He glances up at Ares. “But territory marking really isn’t my thing.”

“Shame,” Ares responds, pressing his mouth plates to Charles’ ear and growls quietly, whispering. “I’m partial to showing possession of what’s mine.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Charles leans into Ares’ face, rubbing the side of his head against Ares’ mouth. “Well, my name is on you now, almost anyway, so … I suppose that pretty clearly marks you as mine.”

“Good.”

Charles smiles, twisting around to press his mouth to Ares’. Purring roughly, Ares opens his mouth and pushes his tongue against Charles’ lips. The man grants him entrance, and Ares wraps his tongue around the shorter, more plump one, tugging and closing his mouth just enough for the very tips of his teeth to join into the mix. He only lets Charles kiss him for a moment, waiting until he hears a soft moan fall from his lips, before Ares pulls away, chuckling at the regretful groan. “You need to finish. No distractions. Your name isn’t ‘Cha.’”

“It could be, I can change it.” Charles grins, but turns back around, continuing his work. “You’re _so_ still getting me a dog.”

Ares snorts. “You’re going to have to pick it out. I know absolutely nothing about dogs.”

Charles shrugs a little. “So long as it’s not a small breed, I’ll be happy. Little dogs are annoying, they think they’re tough shit and bark at everything, _all the time_.”

“You’ll have to help a bit more than that ….  I thought that _cat_ was a dog at first. A hissing, tree-climbing dog.”

Charles laughs hard enough that he stops cutting, bringing the back of his hand up to press against his forehead as his body shakes. “Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh, and I’m not laughing at you, not really. Dogs and cats are like … how would you put it? Natural, mortal enemies or some shit. Take a random cat and a random dog, throw them together, and they’ll fight to the death. Granted, the dog will pretty much always win given its size, but a cat can fuck some shit up with their claws and teeth.”

Ares hums, considering the concept not too foreign given there are some species that do the same on Palaven. Hell, maybe every planet. Nodding, he looks down and taps Charles’ hand with the straight razor. “Work and talk.”

Charles huffs, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smirk. “You know, I think I kinda liked it better when you were taking orders from me and calling me ‘sir.’” Still, he does as he was told, going back to carving letters into Ares’ hide.

Ares snorts. “Like bossing me around?”

“Under those circumstances … no. Not really.” Charles stills a little, the only movement his hand and blade. “That actually really scared the shit out of me, seeing you like that. More than the fire or any of the rest of it. I didn’t know if you were going to come back to me … how to get us out of here, how to keep you safe.”

Ares doesn’t recall how he acted, what he was thinking, but still feels some of the irrational part of his mind whispering in his ear. “I’m still a bit out of it…. I keep feeling like I have to move, have to prowl the perimeter …. I’m hungry, but I want to chase something down and kill it with my hands like we did in training, preparing for the case of losing our equipment….” He hums and clenches his hand against Charles’ side before releasing. “I feel pinned here, even though I know this is safe, that we are hidden … but part of me wants to go somewhere, has zeroed in on getting out, away ….”

“Did you have this place planned before the factory? You lead us right to this location,” Charles asks but keeps his eyes on his work.

Ares shrugs. “I looked over every possible location to bunker down when I got the dossiers. It was one of the ideas, but probably not my first…. Goes to show how fucked my head is right now….”

Charles hums softly, moving on to the next letter. “Well … I’m just glad whatever part of you—the soldier, I guess—that took over didn’t decide I was an enemy. When I finally got you to look at me in there, I don’t think you knew who the hell I was at all.”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” Ares admits, thinking back to exactly how long it took him to realize. He can’t really remember much about the fire after the initial scent of smoke and sight of growing fire, nor can he drag anything out of the fog about how the two of them got here to this safehouse. Obviously, Ares was aware enough to get them to safety, but he hadn’t started to understand who the human was with him, or even _who he was himself_. Bits and pieces came back the more his adrenaline began to wane, though, and with it, understanding. At the sight of Charles, Ares’ only thought was that this human was important, he had to protect and let himself be protected by the man. “I didn’t exactly know you when I sat and forced you down here, just that you were important.”

Charles smiles. “Works for me. I’m here now, you’re here now. You didn’t kill me, I call it a win.” He leans back, glancing at Ares. “I used your gun to kill him. He wouldn’t stop screaming, but I think it was the sound of your pistol that made you snap out of it enough to get back to your feet.”

“You didn’t get the kill as you wanted,” Ares says, looking down to Charles. “And it was on me.”

Charles shakes his head, letting out an exasperated huff. “Don’t …. Don’t look for ways to blame yourself for shit, especially when it’s not a big deal. I got what I needed, the man’s dead.” He takes a deep breath, letting it out slow. “There’s something else I think I need from this place, from Shanxi, before we leave, if we have time.”

“What is it?” Ares tilts his head and quirks a brow plate, immediately relaxing his face when it pulls at the fresh wounds and starts bleeding again.

“I want to go back to the place it happened, and I want to go see Sarah. Her grave, I mean. Mom’s too, I guess.” He shifts a little. “But … that might be stupid, they might’ve found my dad’s body by now, so me showing up at the cemetery might draw attention.”

“Do you have to do it in daylight hours?”

Charles shakes his head. “They lock the place up after dark, but it’ll be easy enough to get into. We’ll just have to watch for patrols. Kids sometimes like to vandalize graves or even have parties there.”

Ares chuckles and shakes his head. “Not a problem.”

“Thank you,” Charles says, voice soft.

Thrumming, Ares nods and leans lower to brush his mandible to Charles’ cheek. “It’s the least I can do …. Especially after you showed interest in going to Palaven.”

Charles smiles again, though it’s more somber than before. “You’re still taking me there one of these days, too.” He stops to wipe away some of the blood streaming over Ares’ arm, starting on the last letter.

“We can use some fabric to wrap it in at least until it’s safe to explore.” Ares hums, unsure if he should be leaving this house anytime soon. “I don’t know if my mental state will allow me to do anything but this … and I might freak out if you leave and not be here when you return.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you, and you’re not going anywhere without me, either.” Charles huffs, his tone demanding. “I’m almost finished. I’ve got more water, we can at least clean it off, and I still have a clean shirt in my pack. I can cut it for a wrap.”

Ares nods. “We’ll send you for better supplies later when I’m more stable. It’s probably not best for me to get out in the daylight looking like this. We’re trying _not_ to attract attention.”

“I’ve got the Medi-gel from the garage with me still,” Charles says, turning to look at Ares, “when I’m finished with this, you’re going to sit still and let me clean up your head and face, okay?” Tone making it clear he expects compliance, he lifts his eyebrows.

Ares grumbles, feeling like a fledgling being scolded by an adult, but nods. “Alright.”

“Good,” Charles says, setting the razor aside to look at his finished work. “Because … you’re not the only one good at finding reasons to blame yourself for shit, you know? You’re only on this planet for me, so ….” He turns, moving Ares arm a little for him to look at. “Not a masterpiece, but it’s done.”

Charles has a good grip on how to use the razor, Ares couldn’t ask for a better job without the man being a doctor or surgeon. He nods and wipes the blood away with the palm of his other hand. “It’s legible, so it’s more than good.”

Snorting, Charles opens his backpack, digging around inside. “We really need to work on your complementing skills.” Tugging out one of his shirts, he sets it aside and goes back in, finding the Medi-gel. He wipes the razor clean across his pants, already stained with blood and smoke, before using it to cut the shirt into strips, using one, he soaks it in water before moving to kneel in front of Ares, his knees around Ares’ thigh. “Give me a little more light?”

Ares rumbles and activates his omni-tool, light radiating from its interface to bathe the two of them. Charles begins using the wet cloth to wash away blood and grime from the talon marks along Ares’ face and head. He soaks the cloth again, squeezing it out a little over the floor before making a second pass over Ares’ plates and scarred hide.

“They’re not _terrible_. Not as bad as when Cole hit you with the pry bar.” He drops the dirty cloth to the side before using a dry one to pat at the wounds. Setting that strip of cloth down next to him, he opens the Medi-gel and starts smearing it over the gouges.

“My migraine is worse than the wounds.” Ares whines softly, closing his eyes as the pounding stabs of pain follow the rhythm of his heart. “I don’t like being so out of sorts.”

“I know,” Charles says softly, and Ares hears him toss the Medi-gel aside. “I’m sorry. You’ve probably got a concussion if not worse.” He sighs, very gently resting his head against Ares’. “You probably needed to go to a hospital taking a hit like that to your head yesterday, then all the shit tonight ….”

Ares snorts, trying to tamp down his flicking mandibles and nervous buzz at having someone stress over him. “Yeah, like Shanxi—a human centric colony—would have doctors to treat a turian, let alone _medication_.”

Charles scoffs. “I said you needed to go, not that you could go. Why else do you think I didn’t mention it. Well, and the fact that I know you would’ve refused, no matter where the hell we are.” He pulls back, picking up the cloth he’d used to pat dry Ares’ face and turned again, taking Ares arm in his hand. Stretching it out to the side, he turned the bottle of water over the arm, letting it trickle out over the razor cuts.

“You’re right,” Ares agrees, watching the watered down blood flow off his arm. “I wouldn’t have. So you’re stuck with me complaining.”

Charles glances at Ares, flashing a smile at him. “I can live with that, so long as you don’t keel over from internal bleeding or something.” Drying the arm back off, he presses the strip of cloth to the wounds, staunching the bleeding. After a couple of minutes, he carefully pulls back the torn shirt to look before tossing it aside. Using fresh strips, he begins to wrap Ares’ arm.

* * *

 

Hungry and tired, Charles leads Ares through the near pitch-black streets of his old neighborhood. He’d barely slept at all, even after Ares thought he was okay enough for Charles to close his eyes. Every little noise had him snapping awake, gaze darting around, frantic, terrified Ares had wandered off. When he did sleep, he dreamt of fire and blood, of the men whose bodies now lay dead, scattered throughout the small city of Taihang. Finally, Ares stretched out beside Charles, wrapping his arm around Charles and pulling him in against Ares’ chest. He’d made that soft, calming thrum, easing Charles back into a somewhat less fitful sleep.

Now that it’s done, Charles feels more nervous than ever. Not about having actually mutilated and killed people, that he’s oddly comfortable with, but he feels like any minute the police will show up and put him in handcuffs. The thought probably wouldn’t be so intimidating to him a few months ago, but with Ares … he has something he actually cares about now, something to look forward to, and he doesn’t want to miss a second of it. That, and the idea of being forced to stay on Shanxi indefinitely isn’t too comforting, either.

Stopping to look around him, Charles narrows his eyes, trying to match up his memories with the current layout of the area. Thinking he knows where he’s at, he takes a left down a side street and glances over his shoulder at Ares. He hasn’t complained about feeling off since the early hours of the morning, and he seems like he’s doing a lot better, but Charles can’t shake the feeling that the turian is still struggling to pull himself back together again.

Taking another left at the end of the street, Charles spots the entrance to the back alley parking lot, tucked in against the tree line. He stops for a second, taking a few, steadying breaths and reaches for Ares’ hand. Ares rumbles, the sound soothing, before his hand engulfs Charles’. Taking another deep breath, he nods to himself and crosses the street, Ares right beside him.

His skin crawls as soon as he steps into the mouth of the alley leading back to where it all happened. Despite knowing no danger awaits him, knowing the people who did this thing to him and Sarah are dead, his heart still starts to pound against his ribs. He reaches into his pocket with his other hand, wrapping his fingers around the handle of his razor and forces his feet to keep moving.

The alley opens up into the parking lot, and Charles stops. It feels like someone’s wrapping their hand around his throat and squeezing. He knows he’s trembling, and anywhere else, with anyone else … hell even with Ares a few months ago, he’d be embarrassed beyond belief. Aimlessly, his gaze roams over the empty parking lot, not a single sign of that night remaining. And of course, why would it? Still, it seems wrong, like the land itself should bear a scar, a testament to the acts of depravity carried out in this location.

Charles takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes, letting himself remember the events of that night, refusing to retreat from the memories. They wash over him, leaving him a shaking, sobbing mess, and he sinks to his knees, asphalt digging through his pants and into his skin. He feels Ares hovering next to him, a silent, supportive wall standing between him and the rest of the world. He knows all he’d need to do is lift his hand and reach out to Ares, and the turian would lift him to his feet and take him away from this place, but Charles needs this. Opening his eyes again, his gaze turns to the far corner of the parking lot, where he laid dying, watching the life drain out of Sarah, and he pushes himself back to his feet.

He crosses the asphalt, each step echoing in his ears. He doesn’t stop until he stands in the exact spot where they’d left him, and then he closes his eyes again. This time, as the memories come, he forces them to stop, superimposing the last images of their dying breaths over the faces in his memories. Seeing flayed flesh, fat and muscle exposed, hemorrhaging throats … feeling the power he held over them in those last moments of their lives. He stops shaking, tears drying on his face, and he sucks in a deep, cleansing breath. It leaves him exhausted, but calm. This place can’t hurt him anymore.

He turns, looking up at Ares. “I’m ready to go see my sister.”

Ares nods, rumbling as he half turns towards the exit. “Let’s go, then.”

Charles nods, too, sliding his hand into Ares’ and lets him lead the way back out of the alley. Once they’re out on the streets, Charles has to stop and think again about the best way for them to get to the cemetery from where they are. After a few seconds, he turns north and starts walking again.

The cemetery isn’t far, and it’s a hell of a lot easier to find than the alley. Walled off from the streets, there are four entrances, but each gate will be locked and closed by now. The gates will be under closer surveillance, so they’ll probably need to hop the wall. It stands taller than Ares, and the chipped stone the wall is made from doesn’t really leave many hand holds. Ares might be able to make it over without any help, if he wasn’t hurting so bad, but Charles definitely needs an assist. He leads them around the wall until he finds a spot next to a couple of trees, branches low enough for them both to pull themselves up into, but Charles will probably just use the trees as places to kick off of to get high enough up and then jump.

“Can you get over from here?” Charles asks, glancing up at Ares.

Ares hums and looks along the stone wall before nodding, returning his gaze to Charles. “I can use the tree.” Reaching up, he tests a branch by grasping it and pulling it down. “Yeah, it’ll support me.”

Charles nods, pacing back a few steps before running forward. Kicking off of one tree, he aims himself at the wall, meeting the stone with a foot. He shoves off of it, launching himself at the other tree. His foot hits the bark, and he grabs at a branch, using it to pull himself up a little higher before turning, pushing back off again and jumping for the ledge of the wall. His feet make contact for just a second before he hops down, rolling through the grass on the other side. Standing, he brushes himself off, and after scanning the area for guards, he turns to watch for Ares.

Ares’ snort carries over the wall, bringing a grin to Charles’ face. A moment later, he sees the branches shifting before Ares comes into view. Lifting his weight, he climbs up onto a thicker limb higher in the tree that stretches out over the wall, hanging above the grass as it branches out, filled with leaves. Ares rumbles and slowly crosses the branch, crouching to duck under intersecting branches before jumping down, landing on the ground with a thump.

Charles waits for Ares to straighten himself before flashing a grin at him. “You didn’t break your arm, I’m proud.”

“I can always climb back up, if you’d like,” Ares retorts, walking over to Charles and jerking his head to the side towards the majority of the cemetery sprawling out across the grass.

Charles snorts, glancing around him. “Nah, I might need to climb you to get back out of here.” He takes a second to orientate himself, picturing where the front entrance is in relation to his current position. It’s been so many years since he’s been here …. “I think it’s this way,” he says as he starts walking, cutting through the grass instead of taking one of the paved paths. After a meter or so, he glances at Ares. “Do turians bury their dead like this?”

“No, it’s an alien concept to us.” Ares looks around at the gravestones they pass. “We cremate our dead, then spread their ashes over their favorite place, outside of course. We return to the Spirits, adding ourselves to the greater whole once more.”

Charles hums. “Humans do that sometimes, too. Cremation and the spreading of ashes. There’s also entombment, mummification—though that went out of practice long ago—some cultures would send the dead out to sea on small boats and then light them on fire with a burning arrow.” He shrugs. “I’m sure there’s other ways I’m forgetting.” He squints his eyes, trying to make out the names on the headstones, but he knows they have a ways to go to get to Sarah.

“I don’t know about older generations’ customs, not quite sure our ancestors cremated the dead quite like us—or even at all.” Ares thrums behind Charles, the sound contemplative. “I’m not really all that knowledgeable about ancient turians.”

Charles shrugs. “I’m not really all that knowledgeable about ancient humans besides a handful of random trivia.” He stops to look around, cocking his head to the side to listen when he thinks he hears the radio of a patrolman. “Hear anything?”

“We should probably find somewhere to hide,” Ares says, laying a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “It’s not right on us, but I can hear a distant radio. Probably whoever guards this place.”

Charles grunts softly, glancing around. The nearest thing big enough to provide them shelter is the mausoleum. He nods his head towards it. “It’ll probably be locked, and I don’t know if the guards check inside or not. We can hug the wall behind it, though, yeah?”

Ares turns his head, most likely to the sound, before he says, “Sounds like a lot of work. Can’t I just incapacitate them?”

Charles turns, looking over his shoulder at the turian and blinks. “I guess … if that’s what you want to do.”

Ares nods and motions to the mausoleum. “We’ll do as you say, but if we have to, I’ll knock them out.”

Charles shrugs, heading toward the mausoleum. “Which direction are they coming from?”

“From the east.” Ares rumbles. “Lighting will give us the perfect shadows to hide in.”

Charles nods, moving to the west wall, ready to move around to the back when the patrol gets close enough. “Hopefully they don’t dick around and just keep moving.”

Ares answers with a hum, his eyes on the horizon to the east. Nodding once, he twitches his head to the far end of the mausoleum. “Get back there. I’ll stick to the corner and watch their approach.”

Charles does as Ares says, pressing his back to the wall and moving further down the side of the building. Soon, the sounds of footsteps and the chattering radio grow closer, and Ares looks down at him, motioning to the path that weaves through the cemetery from east to the northwest. Turning his head to keep his ear aimed towards the approaching guard, Ares keeps his hand held up. The seconds seem to drag on before the guard’s steps stop, incredibly close.

“Adam sector is clear,” the guard says, his voice crystal clear. “I’m heading to Paul.”

“Roger that.” The voice is muffled, static distorting any indication of gender or age of the speaker.

The guard lingers, though Charles isn’t sure why, but Ares seems to be growing restless. Just as Charles thinks Ares is about to make a move on the guard, the sound of footsteps starts up again, retreating from the mausoleum. Charles waits for Ares to relax, turning to look at him again before he steps back from the wall and peers around the corner. He doesn’t see the guard anywhere, but he can still faintly hear the radio chatter, so he waits a minute longer before cutting out across the grass again.

It only takes him a few minutes to find the area his sister is buried in, using familiar, gaudy headstones as landmarks. He starts reading the names on the headstones, taking his time and crouching low as he moves. An iron fist wraps around his heart when he sees her name, stealing his breath. Looking up, he glances around again, making sure the area is clear before he squats next to the headstone, unwilling to bring himself to actually stand on her grave.

Charles swallows, throat tightening as grief washes over him again. He runs his fingers over her name carved into the stone. “Hey, Sarah,” he whispers, glancing over his shoulder to see how close Ares is. He finds the man standing right behind him, and Ares lays a hand on his shoulder. Turning his attention back to the grave, he absently runs his hand over the grass. “This is stupid, I know you can’t really hear me … but … I wanted to come tell you myself: I killed them, Sarah. I killed the men who hurt you. I made sure they paid for it all.” Tears well up in his eyes, but he blinks them back, swallowing again. “Dad’s gone now, too. I know you always seemed to see the good in him, but you didn’t get to see how bad he was after you were gone.” Charles shakes his head a little. “He killed mom.” He glances around, unable to make out the names on the neighboring graves. “I suppose she’s probably around here somewhere now, too.”

He falls silent, not really having anything else to say, but he stays there a couple of minutes longer, brushing dead leaves and pieces of debris away from her headstone. Restlessness set in, and he knows it won’t be long before another patrol passes by. Sighing, he pushes himself back to his feet, giving her headstone one last look before turning his attention back to Ares. “I’m not sure where my mom’s grave is at, but it should be in this area. Help me look?”

“What’s her name?” Ares looks around, stepping away to walk between the rows and read the stones.

“Rebecca Fairclough.” Charles starts moving, checking out the ones closest to his sister’s first.

The turian nods and stops in front of one, pausing to read before moving to another. Crouching down, he uses his hand to wipe off leaves from the headstone and hums. “I found her. Rebecca M. Fairclough.”

Charles moves over to where Ares is, crouching down next to him to read the name. Ares thrums, pushing himself back up and moves aside. Charles wants to feel something other than a bitterness towards his mother, and he knows that somewhere inside he does, but at the moment, he’s angry with her for not leaving that asshole while she still had a chance. Hell, she should’ve taken Charles and Sarah and left while they were still kids. Left after the First Contact War when Dad really started to lose his shit, started drinking all the damn time. Started hitting her.

He wonders what she’d have to say about him being with a turian and bringing him to visit her grave. He didn’t think she’d really mind. She didn’t hold on to the same prejudices Dad did. She’d be ashamed of him, though … for helping Ares kill Dad. In her mind, he was family, and that was all that mattered, regardless of how fucked up he was. He didn’t even want to think about what she’d say if she knew he’d killed those other assholes, especially with the way he did it.

Charles sighs, running his fingers over his mother’s name etched in stone. “Goodbye, Mom. I hope you’re finally at peace.”

He stands, moving back over to Ares’ side and wraps an arm around his waist. “Let’s get out of here.”


End file.
